Warm fuzzies
Dec. 20th, 2006 11:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilMost of my recent posts have been grouchy rants, so I wanted to be cheerful for once. Good grief, it's Christmas! What am I grumping for? It doesn't matter if the house isn't decorated perfectly, or if I don't get the absolute perfect gift for everyone on my list, or if the Christmas letter doesn't get sent out until after New Year's. Perfection is not the point. The point is peace. "Peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth."
I have this cringing fear that my kids are going to grow up thinking Christmas is the most stressful time of year, when mommy goes beserk. Much better for them to remember their Decembers fondly. I have happy memories of Christmas with my family. My mom learned to make figgy pudding, and we'd eat that and drink her homemade wassail on Christmas Eve. We would read Luke 2 and other related passages, sing Christmas Carols. The next morning we would gather in my parents' room (a little earlier than they would have liked!) and then go downstairs, youngest first, while my mom took pictures of our reactions to the lovely piles of presents under the tree. Then we'd take turns opening our presents, youngest to oldest and back again, one present at a time. After swimming in an ocean of wrapping paper, we'd eat a nice big breakfast. We'd spend the day playing with our new toys, maybe eating some yummy trifle if my mom had had the chance to make it. Good food, good presents, family. That's what I want for my kids.
By the way, I realized today what my boggart would be. A doctor or some other official sort, telling me, "I'm sorry, but you just don't have the capabilities to take care of your son. He'll need to stay in a group home. Maybe you can visit him on the weekends." I need to find a Riddikulus charm to counter that. And some chocolate to counteract the dementor-induced memory of that time just after Thanksgiving last year when the doctor told us Luke would probably never be able to function independently. Come on, Matril, be cheerful. *sigh*
I have this cringing fear that my kids are going to grow up thinking Christmas is the most stressful time of year, when mommy goes beserk. Much better for them to remember their Decembers fondly. I have happy memories of Christmas with my family. My mom learned to make figgy pudding, and we'd eat that and drink her homemade wassail on Christmas Eve. We would read Luke 2 and other related passages, sing Christmas Carols. The next morning we would gather in my parents' room (a little earlier than they would have liked!) and then go downstairs, youngest first, while my mom took pictures of our reactions to the lovely piles of presents under the tree. Then we'd take turns opening our presents, youngest to oldest and back again, one present at a time. After swimming in an ocean of wrapping paper, we'd eat a nice big breakfast. We'd spend the day playing with our new toys, maybe eating some yummy trifle if my mom had had the chance to make it. Good food, good presents, family. That's what I want for my kids.
By the way, I realized today what my boggart would be. A doctor or some other official sort, telling me, "I'm sorry, but you just don't have the capabilities to take care of your son. He'll need to stay in a group home. Maybe you can visit him on the weekends." I need to find a Riddikulus charm to counter that. And some chocolate to counteract the dementor-induced memory of that time just after Thanksgiving last year when the doctor told us Luke would probably never be able to function independently. Come on, Matril, be cheerful. *sigh*
