I am Scrooge.

Well, Scrooge-like at least …

I’m not sure when this happened.  The transformation probably occurred sometime after the boys passed The Age of Christmas Enchantment.  Perhaps my scrooginess results from the amount of stress and work the holiday entails.  I find it neither enjoyable nor particularly satisfying … until it’s all over anyway.  The days immediately leading up to Christmas are filled with crazy running around, fits of panic over what still needs to be done, and pangs of emptiness over those who are no longer around to enjoy the day with you.      

It seemed all worth it when the kids were … well, kids.  The bedlam seems to melt away when you get to experience those precious moments of joy on your child’s face Christmas morning.  

At least we are  fortunate enough to have all the boys here for the holidays.  I’m afraid to think what it will feel like in future years when the gravitational pull of new wives and families takes it bite out of that remaining pleasure.  But thus is life.  It’s no wonder that parents can be so jealously protective of their family’s holiday traditions. 

The sub-current to this angst is the gnawing realization that it is the True Meaning of Christmas that eludes me as I bounce from task-to-task-to-task as we prepare for the mayhem of Christmas Day.

That’s something for me to work on.

2 thoughts on “I am Scrooge.

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