National Toxic Housewife Day Is Coming, The Goose Is Getitng Fat

waitin' for the Big Man

Alright, America, your consumerism and commercialism has worn me down: I took my kid to see Santa before it was even December 1st.


I've always refused to start decking the halls until after December 10th.  It was a moral thing: my way of thumbing my nose at all the companies that insist we start shopping earlier and earlier each year (Christmas products were right next to the Halloween candy in some of my local stores this October).  I'm tired of our greediness.

Of course, it's also a matter of my own greediness.  My birthday's not until the 8th, and I grew up tired of people combining gifts to just give me one birthday/Christmas gift.  Therefore, I refused to acknowledge that Christmas was coming until National Toxic Housewife Day was safely past.

But . . .

Now I'm older.  And I've learned to accept that Christmas -- for me -- is not about the commercialism, and is about the wonder of the season for Mr. C and the fun ways I can show Bee I love him and the homemade gifts I can share with my family and friends to show I care (and that I'm cheap).  So I can celebrate Christmas for my own reasons, and not because I've been suckered in with Christmas Consumerism.

Also (now that I'm older), my birthday isn't as big a deal as it used to be; so why not borrow some of the holiday season merriment to get people into the mood for National Toxic Housewife Day, anyway?

Also, now that I'm older, I recognize my shortcomings . . . which means: if I staunchly wait until after National Toxic Housewife Day to decorate and prepare for Christmas -- and my innate laziness inevitably gets in the way -- I won't get the decor up until the 22nd and will have to take it down just a week later.  My innate laziness doesn't like the fast turn-around.

So, I took Mr. C to our local nursery to see Santa on November 30.  I waited in line for an hour, in a humid greenhouse, surrounded by crafters' booths and begonias.  And I didn't even mind at all.  Bee couldn't take it, and walked home after 20 minutes to rake the yard.  But I did fine.  I concentrated on the fact that the longer the line took, the less I'd have to help rake when I got home.  And I actually spoke to the people in line with me.  (We shared merriment!  Like real human beings!)

Mr. C abandoned me to hold his place in line while he went to the coloring station to write a letter to Santa.  When he was done and wandered over, I sent him off to weave through the crowds in order to fetch me free cookies and cheese.  Then he amused himself by hiding under the rows of plants to quietly nibble at his snack:

I was probably in a particularly-good holiday mood because -- unlike the parents around me -- I was able to stand in line for an hour without my child hanging on my legs impatiently or entertaining himself by kicking pebbles across the pathway or begging for a cookie I couldn't get out of line to retrieve.  It's so nice that Mr. C was confident-enough to go off on his own, and that I felt we were in a safe place for him to do that.  And it's nice to have a child who you know will check back in with you and will quietly munch his cheese while the kids around him are hanging off the greenhouse's water pipes.  How long will I get such bliss with my sweet little boy?

I enjoyed the visit to Santa so much that I have decided to give in to the holiday spirit . . . but only because I want to, mind you: not because the stores and radio stations are telling me to.  I'm planning Christmas parties and stockpiling gifts and ordering solar-powered Christmas lights.  And I've even gotten myself a few presents:

it comes with stickers!

chop a whole onion in seconds!

As you may have expected, my Miserly side and my Greedy side were at war over these purchases, but Greedy (surprisingly) won out, insisting we needed -- nay, deserved -- these fine items; we only live once, after all!  Of course, Miserly still hasn't shut up about it, making me feel guilty over spending money on fluff and therefore diminishing my joy over my purchases.  She's such a bitch.