Mrs. Grinch and Me
Posted by Susie Lloyd in Family on Tuesday, December 15, 2009 6:00 AM
Another Thanksgiving has come and gone and whew – was I glad when it was over!
Why? I mean, the kids were all home. If you know me, you know that having all seven kids together under our roof is a major snuggle factor with me.
It was just how it should be. We had several great days together. We shopped for Christmas, went to the salon, shared movies, and exchanged knowing glances at the cute things their little siblings did. It was cozy with a capital Z.
Then came Thanksgiving Day. You’re thinking – okay, so what happened? Did someone break a limb in the neighborhood turkey bowl? Did you cut yourself opening that can of gourmet cranberry sauce and develop a case of tetanus? Did a poultry thief steal in and oh so gingerly tiptoe off with your hot 18-pound bird?
No. We all sat down in one piece in a warm dry room accented by twinkle lights, in front of a grand fully-present-and-accounted-for feast.
And started complaining.
“Oh, I hate this music. It’s so depressing.” “Can’t we put something else on?” “Yeah, and it’s too loud.”
Meanwhile the little kids, feeling left out, made random background noises as if to say, “Hey, we’re part of this family too. We’re just trying to do our small part to add to the cacophony.”
It just wasn’t “how it should be.”
When someone rudely snapped, “Shut up!” I knew my hopes for an idyllic Thanksgiving meal were shattered.
If only I thought of that before I said it ...
I should have thought of it because frankly, it’s nothing new. Mrs. Grinch drops in on most holidays – not just days like Thanksgiving that require lengthy hours in the kitchen, either. I dread my birthday too. “What if it’s not how it should be?”
There is hope. Because I now know the cause. I figured it out. But you don’t have to take my layman’s word for it. Listen to The University of Maryland Medical Center:
“Experts say one of the fastest routes to holiday depression is unrealistic expectations.”
It’s really a good thing, gone beserk. The same impulse that makes us spend hours and hours in the kitchen, trying to make the perfect meal – expects the perfect meal. It’s why we lay out the wedding present china and crystal decanter (No, kids put the everyday stuff back & get the ugly wine bottle off the table) on the damask table cloth. We light candles (Watch your brother so he doesn’t catch on fire). We plug in twinkle lights and put a moodCD on.
And ...
“There are expectations around the holidays that ‘everything must be perfect’, and perfection is, of course, rarely obtainable.”
It’s embarrassing to admit that I dread holidays because “it’s not how it should be.” Still I wonder, how many other women go through this? The first step towards recovery is admitting you have a problem.
The second step is knowing the cure. Ever hear that song, “What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours ...” Well for me, that’s the foolproof cure: The next day!
The day after the holiday, the pressure to have a good time is off, right? The Catholic Church is on to this. The day after a big liturgical feast day is often a big liturgical feast as well. The Patriarchs of the Church who invented the liturgical calendar reasoned that the joy that the feast creates deserves to last and last. Meanwhile, up in heaven, the women saints are the real ones responsible. “We’ve got to give these people at least one more day. Heck, make it a whole octave. That way they can hang out in pajamas and microwave the leftovers and really have fun.”
In the case of Thanksgiving, the day after is always a Friday – which in our house is the one day a week we voluntarily abstain from meat. So it was the Saturday after Thanksgiving that was leftover day. Quick and painless and after two days, just a pinch of bacteria to give it a little zip. After hanging out in pajamas and microwaving the leftovers, we invited friends over to sit on the floor with us – where we played games far into the night. The only food was a plate of chocolate chip cookies and bowl of potato chips, the only beverages a pot of coffee and some sticky orange soda. The china and the crystal decanter looked enviously out from behind the glass doors of the hutch like: “What have they got that we haven’t got?”
Forget putting on music. There was too much noise. It was just how it should be.
After that night, I’m a new woman. I am never going to dread the holidays again.
I just can’t wait for the day after Christmas.
—Senior writer Susie Lloyd writes from her home in Pennsylvania. Her latest book is Bless Me Father For I Have Kids.
Print Blog
Email a FriendPost a Comment
By submitting this form, you give Faith And Family Magazine permission to publish this comment. Comments will be published at our discretion, and may be edited for clarity and length. For best formatting, please limit your response to one paragraph and don't hit "enter" to force line breaks.
