Sorry kids...

I've been gone for a week, as you may have noticed, but it wasn't because I was doing the usual motherly Christmas duties.

I was sick of those duties.

Let me rephrase that: I was SICK of those duties, and for weeks I'd been sick of Christmas, I'll admit it.

I'd been sick thinking of all the decorating I'd have to do, while everyone sat and watched, or worse, didn't even seem to notice.

I'd hated baking cakes and cookies that only add to my waistline while everyone else looks as thin as ever after eating twice as many, often finishing the whole batch while I was still washing the dishes from making them.

I hated comparing their long lists of dreams and needs against my desire to fill them all, and then against our own shrinking budget, knowing that half this stuff they asked for would be in a rubbish bin before New Year's, or hanging in the back of a closet after a desultory, "Uh, thanks, Mum". Hey, no matter that shopping for it took not only money but hours or even days of my time.

I dreaded the turkey...paying for it, finding room for it in the refrigerator, cooking it, and eating it for a week. I dreaded the dishes afterward even more...especially knowing that as I did them everyone else would be lined up on the sofa in front of the new DVDs they'd gotten.

I couldn't find my Christmas tablecloth. My favourite ornament was missing. The battery-lit candles wouldn't work. When I tried to send Christmas cards on time this year my printer broke, the Son poured all our glitter on the Christmas tree, the dog ate the glue stick, and Baby Princess stuck all the adhesive stars on her bedroom radiator: I had to start over. Three times.

When presents began to gather under the Christmas tree in the week before Christmas, there were at least a couple for everyone in the family, even the dog. As usual, there were one for me. And as much as I love Santa, he seems to have forgotten me.

Suddenly, I snapped.

Just snapped.

"THAT'S IT," I said, on the day before Christmas Eve. "I'm sick of it all."

"I'm not cooking Christmas dinner," I said, "and I'm doing no more shopping, no more decorating, no more baking, no more ANYTHING."

They looked at me.

"Don't I deserve a holiday too?" I said.

Well, I thought I did. So---

"There's nothing you can say to change my mind," I said. "I'm canceling Christmas."

And I did.

Yep...after all these years, it was my turn to be selfish, MY turn for a present and Christmas dinner, my turn for a lot of things. I put my foot down. They'd survive it. I wouldn't be sorry, and I refused to feel guilty.

"Instead of Christmas," I said, "We're going to do something that I like, for a change. Get your coats all of you, and get in the car."

So, that's why Santa didn't come to our house this year.

I hope that someday, in time, they'll understand why I had to do it. And perhaps, even forgive me.











Happy Holidays, everyone! I hope yours have been the best ever.

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