Tis the Season

I just love this time of year. It brings out the best in people who have acted poorly for the last 11 months of the year!

I'm so conflicted throughout this whole period, though. But the great thing is that it's the one time of year that being conflicted is o.k. And then I get angry at myself for being conflicted. And I get angry at myself for not being able to find the joy. Then I find my JOY. And it's all o.k.

Or something like that.

One year for a New Year's Resolution I proclaimed that I was giving up on Martha Stewart. I was not going to watch her new show, read her books, or by her magazine....I'm not sure if she had a magazine then. But for sure, my proclamation was way before she was in the pokey.

And the ladies to whom I expressed this resolution thought I was silly. But for me, it was a proclamation. An edict, if you will.

See, I lived my 20's (and if I'm honest, a part of my late teens and early 30's) professing that I'd

DO THINGS DIFFERENT THAN MY MOTHER.

I'm not sure what that meant, but, I'd do things with more meaning...more purpose...more PANACHE!

And I did. As soon as my kid(s) were born, I wrote out my lists of all the things I'd bake. I planned how I'd decorate the tree, how I'd make the holiday meaningful. Granted, we were REALLY...no, I mean REALLY broke for several years.

I made homemade wrapping paper from free end-rolls from the local newspaper (the boys stamped potato/tempra paint stamps on the newsprint). I made homemade gifts...fudges of all flavors, candy, ciambela (Italian anise bread), we decorated the tree with "found" objects....cinnamon sticks, pinecones, candycanes (which doubled as treats for the boys).

My oldest made a whole story about "Mom's attempt at beaded garland". See, I had gone to Blobby Lobby craft place and found beaded garland that looked like cranberries. I couldn't afford it, so I went to the St. Vincent DePaul store (salvation army, goodwill) and found a mess of those beaded thing-ies that you'd drape over your way-cool bucket seats for a nice massage.I took the beads of those stupid things, re-strung them on green twine and spray painted them red. Except somehow I blew up the red spray paint can in the middle of our kitchen. In front of the boys.

So, yes, the spray painted garland is now and will forever be a part of our Christmas Tradition. Fuck the cookies. Screw the hand imprinted wrapping paper.

It never fails that the one thing people mention is the beaded garland on my tree. And the boys just LOVE to tell that story.

So much for Martha.