As a kid I never understood why my mom got stressed over holidays. But once I grew up and had a family of my own, I realized holidays only happen with ease because someone is back there pulling the strings. And if that someone doesn’t pull the strings at just the right moments, instead of ending up with an awesome Easter or a cool Christmas or a fabulous Fourth of July, you end up with a knot of disappointment.
I absolutely hate pulling the strings.
I’m not talking about whole religious aspect of holidays here — everyone celebrates that differently, if at all. What I’m talking about is the let’s make this day perfect aspect. The everyone takes off of work and school for this…so it had better be good aspect. The gimme, gimme, gimme part and the what? that’s what we’re eating for dinner? part.
Oh, wait. That last bit happens everyday.
But come on! The pressure!
Yes. I’m a Scrooge, an Evil Bunny, a Black Cloud on the sun of happy holidays. Or maybe I’m just an extremely spoiled child who had a fantastic childhood with year after year after year of perfect holidays lined up like popcorn on a garland. My mom and dad did it all and they did it well. From the Easters where it took me and my siblings hours to find our baskets (inside the piano, people), to the nights when St. Nicholas banged loudly on the windows (fun and freaky), to the rosy pink watermelon on Independence Day (yum), my parents gave me great memories. Wonderful memories, despite Mom kind of hating it all.
So…maybe, just maybe I am doing the same for my kids without even knowing it. Let me find out. I’ll ask them right now.
They say they liked the pancakes I made in the form of their initials, even if they were burnt. And the eggs we colored with nail polish swirl only gave them headaches for a short half hour. The drive out to the Easter Egg Hunt was kind of long for the few eggs they got, but at least it wasn’t raining. Easter was fun, they say. It was a good Easter in their books.
*Sigh* I hate holidays.
But I do love those kids.