~from Ami

I always breathe a sigh of relief when Christmas is put up. Seeing those decorations in January is like a sad reminder of an unrequited love.

I'm delirious that I'll hear no more Christmas vs. Holiday arguments, that no one will be leaving lumps of divinity or fudge on my desk, that the weight of finding that perfect gift is off my shoulders for another twelve months, that I'll reflect no more that my splintered family drove out the spirit of Christ's true meaning decades ago.

Here's the perfect Christmas in my mind: We pack up on December 21st, go skiing or to the beach, experience Christmas Day thoughtfully and joyfully- no mounds of presents that overwhelm the little kids, no overheated kitchen brimming with forbidden food, no need to reflect on the stress of holidays past-- a boycott, if you will.

I used to think of myself as a Christmas person. It was my second favorite holiday. Or used to be. But the more Christmases I go through, the less I like it. Christmas should be more like my #1 holiday- Fourth of July. No one expects anything from you the Fourth. You can buy fireworks or not. There's no huge conflicts slapping you in the face i.e.: patriotism vs. xenophobia vs. Democrats vs. Whigs. Nothing. No one gets angry you didn't send them a Fourth of July card. You can cook a big meal or just grill some weanies. You can get together with your family or just hang out in your own backyard. No one cares. There's no emotional toll involved. Stores are closed, people feel festive. I LOVE Fourth of July!

Thanksgiving has already slipped in the ranks for me, waaaay down past Bastille Day, if you really want to know. I boycott Thanksgiving. When Brett and I were first married, we usually attended no less than four Thanksgiving meals over the course of the day. Not wanting to offend anyone, knowing all extended family members expected to see the baby. It made our relatives angry that we left the meal early to go to another, it made other relatives angry that we were late to their dinner, it made still others angry when we showed up not hungry at all because we'd eaten the equivalent of three days' worth of sweet potatoes. Guess what I do for Thanksgiving now? Nothing. Our son usually goes off with friends for Thanksgiving. Brett and I go hiking and eat sandwiches and Zarda beans. It's exhilarating!

So I boxed up Christmas on the day of Epiphany. The fake tree I said I'd never have was boxed up and stored in the attic. Each ornament stuffed into Christmas tins. I ripped the garland from the front door and wrestled the ubiquitous dangling icicle lights from the front of the house. When it was put away I felt immeasurably better, even though it IS January.

We were driving back from our Carolina Christmas trip and I turned around and asked my son what we should do for Christmas next year. It will be our last as a family, since he's graduating in 2007. "Let's go out with a bang!" I said. "Let's take a cruise or go to Padre Island. Mexico? Skiing in Utah?"

He stared at me from the backseat, unblinking. It's uncanny how he does that. I don't see where he gets this stalwart spirit of tradition that I discard so joyfully. "Why can't we just stay home and have Christmas?" he said.