Dec. 27, 2007 at 1:38pm

Holiday Recap

(or, a mixed Santa-bag)

Once upon a time, December 26 was a hangover-like time of buyer's remorse, niggling feelings of gift-giving inequality, and the onset of a vague sense of post- holiday letdown depression.

Then we had a kid.

Labor, six years ago, began on December 24, with our living, squalling little Christmas package arriving in our arms on December 26, at 5:30 a.m.  

December 26, thereafter, was a time of buyer's remorse, niggling feelings of gift-giving inequality, and the onset of post-holiday letdown depression PLUS the hasty run-around that was trying to create a birthday and a party and an environment that allowed our little cherub to feel like her special day wasn't just an afterthought.

This year, that changed a bit.  Buyer's remorse and all the rest of that lot remain, but yesterday we decided to implement a family-special day for the kid, with a potential not-Birthday party later in the year to celebrate with her friends.

Consequently, here I am on December 27 with a house to try to put back together, and an overwhelming sense of "how much is too much?" As I try to assess the holiday season.  

Determinations:

What's important: family, friends, special times shared, and acknowledgment of love.  Did that happen?  Check.  Mostly.  The significant one and I grew surly as finances began to trickle; as a newly unemployed human, a negative balance bank account didn't do a whole lot to make my season Merry and Bright in this time of commercialism and "tell him you love him by buying him a Jag" (or Wii, or fancy schmancy car accessory.) -- He was a rock star and came through with a fab pair of earrings and some groovy workout gear, for me, while my own iPod docking alarm clock and wallet (wrong type, wrong fit) were the token dud gifts of the season.  Really, I love him more than the cheesy items would suggest, but... meh.  

What's important: no more disposable cheesy lame-ass, coming soon to a landfill near you gifts.  Hence, I started my aggressive campaign toward getting the kid a piano --electronic, Craig's List, whatev-- I wanted the kid to have the gift of music (and lessons) that she'd carry through for the rest of her life.  After much debate, the mate reluctantly agreed to getting her a Yamaha keyboard, we went to Ted Brown and got a pretty basic instrument that, I found later, has some pretty groovy featured.  We also got her a Playmobil Castle that she's been eying for a couple of years now; at over 100 bucks, it wasn't cheap, but the idea of shopping local (Teaching Toys on Proctor had a truly magical December 23 vibe; sooooooo much better than malling it!!) -- also, a carriage and more castle-folk as a b-day gift made for much construction for mom, and a happy kid.  There was a fairly sick amount of disposable lame-ass, too, but I felt like in general, we did alot better at the whole "shop local" concept (cheesey crap was purchased at Fred Meyer, which, at least, has Union employees and began as a locally owned business...) --and both mate and I were well pleased with our bad selves that we avoided the mall completely.  Whee!  (I have no doubt, however, that he would have been much happier if I had made at least one trip into Nordstrom for a good wallet, as well as some other bits he might have seen as more useful than what he got... But I'm not dwelling on that, am I?) 

so...disposable crap avoided? As much as possible, check.

What's important: Family.  Accomplished? Check, check, check.  I had intended to go through and do a full-on, crazy insane intense amount of scrap-book-y crafting for my mom and dad, but the significant one discouraged me from driving myself crazy with all-nighters of crafty fun.  Though I didn't believe that I'd be driven crazy, I had to concede the point.  Since this was my first non-working/with no school/no infant interrupting sleep patterns holiday season in years, the concept of having a full night's sleep for a succession of days was a novelty, to say the very least. So, the mom and the dad (as well as the America-dwelling Hungarian auntie)  got a framed picture of me and my daughter, snapped while we wore hand-embroidered shirts brought back for us from Hungary several years back. 

Both of my parents escaped from Hungary in the 50s, and met in America.  Now divorced, they gave their two daughters --me and my sister-- a rich heritage that will, in this family line, end with us.  My daughter speaks no Hungarian, as do(or would that be don't?) my sister's boys.  My father's name began and will end with him: as an escapee from a Communist country in America at the peak of McCarthyistic paranoi, he wanted no ethnicity back in the day, and changed his name to a very Anglo-looking and sounding one.  Seeing pictures of his sister, my aunt (whom I barely remember, since my last visit to Hungary was in 1978, when I was 8) in her last days, seeing pictures of the family name on his father's (mammoth) headstone, especially coming on the heels of some very good friends of mine losing their own parents-- two, their fathers, one, her mother-- made me think long and hard about where I choose to prioritize my life, and how.  It makes me really want to teach my kid Hungarian, to say the least.

My aunt's tears at the sight of the pictures, and her pleas (joined by my mother's, in her drug induced state) that I send more pictures and an update letter to my family in Hungary didn't fall on deaf ears, this year.  I'll get to that, as soon as I get my house under some semblance of post-Christmas control.  At this point, I'll also do the other crazy ambitious projects for my mom and dad-- my mom will be moving to Florida soon, and who knows what the future brings past that.  For my mom's part, though, this holiday season, she went minimalist due to surgery on both her feet, following a trip to Florida to survey the other home she owns, which is currently under pending lawsuit.  Because what's a holiday without some drama?

Other family fun included visits with his cousin and her daughter, whose generosity set the kid up for a long year of crafty fun; additionally his mom's hospitality was warm and genuine, capping off a really simple, mostly drama free Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Of course there had to be drama, from the wee family member, who seemed to follow the cup-half-empty approach quite a bit.  She was upset she wouldn't be getting a party, and upset she didn't get absolutely everything she saw in the Target catalog (sorry, honey, but Santa REFUSES to buy Bratz.  Period.)  She seemed mollified when her special family birthday meant a day trip to a super cool snowy far away land (Snoqualmie Snow Park, the innertube park with a tow line that I decided to avoid like the plague because, swear to God, it wanted to decapitate me) -- the park was fun, though spendy with three adults at $16 a pop, and a kid at $5, (considering kid was popsicle-ized after a little over an hour) --but I got my money's worth with some really fun trips down (note: belly is best) and discovered that by running up, I got the kind of "ohmigodI'mgonnapuke" workouts I generally am willing to pay a personal trainer for.  Of course, the term "running" is used loosely, insofar as a 38 year old mom in Chooka's (NOT, I'll emphasize, known for warmth in snow) and snowboard pants, dragging an innertube, running through 24 inches of snow, can run.  Call it slogging--even still, I beat the tow rope up every time.  Whee, go me!!

post sledding, the family (joined by the mother-in-law type) went to the Rainforest Cafe for lunch-- I mistakenly ordered the Tuscan Chicken, hoping the serving would be fit for a normal mortal, unlike my usual chop salad order, but no, it was like three chicken breasts, smothered in a somewhat sickening combination of barbecue sauce, caesar dressing, and kalamata olives with tomato chunks.  More sickening: I ate it. Beh.  And a fair portion of the Volcano we ordered so the kid could have the mortifyingly wonderful experience of having strangers sing a super loud version of Happy Birthday while the entire restaurant looks on.  Her face was priceless, totally, "I'd like to dig a hole right now (but this is kinda' cool)" --it was a good day, overall.  A really good day.  Especially once I got the last of her Playmobil castle built, along with the carriage that was the birthday gift, and had a glass of wine in me.  

What's important: friends.  It's been a good holiday for that, with experiences at gallery openings and play dates and ballets and cookie parties and an eleventh hour lifesaving Greek Food extravaganza (It's Greek to Me has the Pitas, Tzatziki, mystery lamb strips, and lamb kebobs to kill and die for) -- that all had me counting my blessings, much as I hate to use the trite term.

Thing of it is, that exhausts and irritates me so, Christmas and its surrounding days and days of preparations and goings and comings and expectations (generally self-imposed) and endless though monumentally important minutiae is mostly a "her" thing, at my house.  I get the decorations out, and put 'em away.  I do the basic cleaning, I do the not so basic crap.  I do the family shopping, I do the cards, I do the laundry, I mostly look after the child, I do the dogs, I do the worrying.  Christmas day, I clean, I (most of the time, this year I boycotted) cook, I get the house all put away so there aren't boxes and bags and things all over everywhere.  So, even after all the endless pre-Holiday Crap, the Holiday crap looms like an under the pre Holiday Crap icepberg.

I guess, typically I've done it all without the benefit of mulling on it.