The holidays are not what they used to be…at least for me. I used to enjoy the holidays when my kids were small. The joy and wonder, the anticipation was worth all the hassle of decorating, shopping, wrapping gifts and hiding them, etc. It was fun to help the kids make gifts and goodies for Santa! We had our traditions; the cookie baking, the homemade pizzas, popcorn cake, and pizza balls. That was all on Christmas Eve! The kids got to open a gift that night and leave cookies for Santa. We watched Christmas movies and had lots of laughs! I always made a big ham dinner on Christmas Day, along with tons and tons of appetizers that we got full of before we even had dinner! The kids enjoyed all of it and so did I.
The kids got older, became harder to shop for, harder to please. You know, pre-teens and teenagers. They no longer believed in Santa Claus. Ok, so before someone decides to educate me on the true meaning of Christmas, don’t. I’m quite aware. I’m not a religious person but I always taught my kids “the reason for the season.” But that’s not what this post is about.
About 11 years ago, certain events changed the way I thought things would be in our family. On top of that, chronic pain has invaded my every move, my every thought and…my everything. It’s rough. I was able to spend a little time with my son, his wife and the littlest grandson on Christmas Eve and I enjoyed every minute of it but I thought my house would be full of kids’ laughter and play, during the holidays. Depression, loneliness, and sadness always sets in.
I try not to succumb to the depression but it’s hard. I eat too much, don’t sleep enough, and I cry a lot when I’m alone. During the holidays, I try so very hard to hide my sadness and put a smile on my face. I’m not able to do the cooking I used to do. My son made the popcorn cake for Christmas Eve this year but he didn’t have time to make the pizza balls. That’s ok though, we still had pizza; it was frozen pizza but it was still good. I threw a ham in the oven on Christmas Day and opened a can of baked beans, which was fine because it was just me and Dad. Still, not what this post is about.
I bet you’re thinking, “Damn, I wish she’d get to the point!” I’m getting there, I promise.
Every year I try to make myself feel more festive and happy by giving gifts to others. GIVING TO OTHERS makes me feel good about who I am and I love to make gifts. This year, I crocheted over a dozen gifts for family. I carefully chose the yarn color and pattern/design I thought was perfect for each person. I worked my ass off, sometimes ripping out a design that just didn’t look good and starting over. I put my heart and soul into everything I made. It felt good to do it and I’m not sorry I did, but I’ll tell you what…
I’m makin’ a list…
I’m making a list for next year and if anyone wonders why they didn’t get anything from me then maybe they should think about Christmas 2019 when they didn’t even have the common decency to send me a simple text to thank me for their gift. It takes just seconds!! What a bunch of ungrateful shits in my family. And this does not apply to young children. It applies to adults; young adults and older adults.
I didn’t make the gifts for the thanks, just to be clear. But it would be nice to be recognized and appreciated. I busted my ass to get everything finished and shipped in time for Christmas. It really hurts my feelings that only 3 people thought to thank me for their gift. Next year, I’ll be sending my handmade crocheted items to people who might actually appreciate it…perhaps the Nursing Home, a homeless shelter, or the children’s hospital. Maybe I’ll just make scarves for all the homeless dogs and cats in the area!