Let’s be real. The anticipation of Christmas is better than the actual experience of Christmas. For the first thirty minutes, the twinkling lights, jovial ambient noise, and surge in blood sugar are intoxicating. And, similarly like other kinds of intoxication, the shiny facade fades with time. The twinkling lights begin to twinkle a bit too brightly, a sour comment rises from the once pleasant din, and the cookies start tasting a little too sweet.
After five family holiday gatherings, I was vexed in a way that’s only possible in the latter half of December.
1. The inevitable bigoted and/or racist comment that gets tossed out like a rotting mouse carcass into the middle of the room. Keep your stinky thoughts to yourself, please.
2. The transmutation of our (still sometimes nice) toddler into a writhing, screaming, kicking Present Monster. At the sight of unopened gifts, Julian lost what little of his mind is correctly connected at this stage. He had to be physically removed early from one of the celebrations because his behavior verged on criminal.
