Decorations
We put up the Christmas decorations Friday, and it almost broke us.
Because I have amnesia when it comes to scheduling this annual affair, I forgot how long it actually takes. In my hungover-from-thanksgiving-addled brain, I think it takes a little over an hour.
We head down the hill to Ace Hardware around 1:30 pm, full from leftovers that are already starting to look unappealing.
Vivian and I run inside to pay for the tree and get some more soil for my plants. Landon straps the tree to my very old car that I refuse to get rid of, that Vivian is becoming more and more critical of. That’s okay, I know that she’s 9 and lacks awareness of how important my 2005 Pontiac Vibe has become. Jack chewed on one of the seatbelts, and since he died in 2018 it feels like all that’s left of him; plus, it gets great mileage.
We get home, and I start pulling everything out of the storage closet. I remain surprised each year- “There are THREE bins? Why are there so many wreaths?”- yet none of my complaining helps. We are where we are.
After the decorations were finally done, it’s bedtime for Vivian. The whole process took over 4 hours, a new low. I make a drink, and we attempt to relax.
I woke up Saturday morning feeling deeply depressed. No real reason, just sad and mopey and gloomy. Help.
Christmas was perfect and easy as a child, then moved on to be fun into my 20s, then when Landon and I started dating it became a bit more complicated, splitting some time up here and there. When we got married, it got even more complex, scheduling a few hours here, then driving across town for a few hours there. Adding a kid into the mix made it infinitely more complex, traveling to Dallas and doing Santa at my mother-in-law’s.
We finally moved Christmas to our home, now traveling to see family a few days later, staying through New Years. While I love staying home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the travel still looms overhead, a dreaded expense each year. Sometimes we joke about driving, but it takes a little over 18 hours, and feels worse somehow. It’s fine, and of course we do it because we love our families and want Vivian to see her grandparents.
Maybe my depression was preemptive, my body reacting to the twinkle lights and candy canes, trying to get it over with. The sadness of the holidays cannot be escaped as an adult, although having a daughter to perform Santa Clause for definitely helps. We’ll still have Santa even after she’s done believing (this might be her last year), because it’s fun and that’s what you do. I think we were in college, and my parents were still sending us to bed and getting the real presents out of the closets.
But back to this Saturday’s depressive surprise- after a few hours of my doom and gloom, Landon suggested a last-minute trip to Disney. I famously hate amusements parks, Disneyland being no exception. Maybe hate is the wrong word- I am not a fan of walking around an amusement park all day, I don’t like heights, I don’t like big rollercoaster drops, there’s just nothing for me there.
Once again, having a daughter changes things, and I knew that Vivian would die to go to Disney again, since the last time she went was when she was 3 years old, a faint memory mostly cobbled together for her by pictures. Landon’s mom kicked in, and we booked our tickets for Sunday.
Walking around Disneyland all day somehow worked better for my mood than being sad on the couch with the Sunday Scaries all day. Help comes in new forms each year.