Bad Parent: Sorry, Can't Make It
There's no place like home for the holidays — my home.
by Jeanne Sager
December 18, 2008
The truth? They weren't.
The past two Christmases have been blissful for their lack of activity.
When we climb out of bed, we're in the comfort of our own home. We head downstairs to watch our sleepy-eyed pre-schooler attack the pile under the tree with reckless abandon.
There is no time limit on our Christmas morning, no pressure to hustle her off to the bath and into a snowsuit so we can get on the road. We can spend an hour reading and rereading her new Madeline book before she gets around to unwrapping the new baby doll — or she can tear through every last wrapped package before I've managed to get through one. There's no dress code for holidays at home, no morning argument over pigtails vs. braids and no call for switching out the pajamas and bathrobe for anything fancier than worn jeans.
There's no requirement that a three-year-old spend her day carefully avoiding fun lest she stain her dress or tear a hole in her stockings, that she wistfully bid her new pile of toys goodbye moments after opening them, so she can be shuttled to the next set of relatives.
What else is missing? The sniping.
What else is missing? The sniping.The uncles camped on either side of the house because even at Christmas they refuse to let bygones be bygones. The eldest cousin moaning that the little kids won't leave her alone, then pushing one into the tree just to see if those pine needles are as sharp as everyone says. The excessive pounding of shots of, er, milk and cookies.
In short, we've turned the holidays back into what they were meant to be, a time to truly enjoy each other's company and let the kids be kids.
We haven't shut out the family entirely. My parents and my husband's are welcome to drop in on Christmas Day, along with my brother.
They can personally watch their granddaughter open her gifts without distraction, eliciting the thank you she's been well trained to offer up in exchange. They can join hands with us around a small feast that we've cooked in our own kitchen.
We've traded the "are we there yet" chorus for Handel's "Messiah."
©2008 Jeanne Sager and Babble
About the Author
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Jeanne Sager is a freelance writer and photographer living in upstate New York with her husband and daughter, Jillian. She maintains a blog of her award-winning columns at jeannesager.blogspot.com. |
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