The Injustice of Being a Parent at Christmas
Just a quick post before I go to bed and call time on yet another Christmas Day. Yet another Christmas Day when I have completely failed to summon up any festive spirit whatsoever, which bothers me somewhat.
I'm not saying I haven't had a nice time, I have - but my lovely memories of childhood are all about the traditions and the routine of the festivities, and I think that's what I'm trying to achieve for my own children. I'll be the first to admit that I'm on the anal side about how things should be done, and today I felt that it was all a bit of a mess.
Not the dinner - that was one thing over which I had complete control - but the fact that by early evening I'd only managed to open one present for myself. And we were so knackered at this point, not having got our second wind, that we started opening our presents just to get them out of the way. "Oh, thanks, perfume, how nice", "Nice jumper" - as if all the effort into buying the stuff counted for nothing, not even the thought counting.
And that brings me to my main point. At some point in the past seven years, the presents I received from family became presents for me and Doug - couply presents, nothing to do with me as an individual. And once I had kids, they've become even more perfunctory as all the thought and money has gone into buying the presents for the children. And that wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that they've got so many bloody presents we're going to have to build a third conservatory to house them all - there's still bag loads of them unwrapped for gods sake.
Its probably because I'm tired that I'm sounding so whingey and selfish, but I think its the realisation that the loss of sense of self is more or less complete thats making me so bloody grumpy. Once you've had one kid, even more so with two and you decide to stay at home and look after them, your life ceases to be your own and has, by necessity, to revolve around the kids. It would be nice, just for Christmas, to get some of that back, even if its just the fact that people have thought about what they're buying you instead of choosing an easy option like smellies or chocolates.
Anyway, I've got that off my chest (sort of), so I'll wish you all a Merry Christmas and head off to bed. Boxing Day tomorrow, my resolution being not to pick an argument with my mother-in-law about whether Morecambe and Wise are funny*.
Ho ho ho.
* they are comedy gods and anyone who doesn't think the Andre Previn sketch isn't a work of comedic genius needs their funny bone replacing.
2 Comments:
I have a theory...
In times of old, when folk lived in caves and ate mud for a living, they tended to reproduce early, around mid to late teens probably. If you don't have children till your mid-late thirties, then the grandparents have approx. 20 years pent up present buying in them. I told my Aged P's not to get Esme any presents, she's 2 months old, has no clue, and already has everything she needs, we have a tiny house already filled with crap. They conceded the point and only sent 116 presents for her (with only a few more to come). Antonia and I got nothing (except a box of smoked fish) (or we got something and immediately forgot, in which case: sorry Aged Ps!). I think if grand parents (and other relatives) didn't do this they would probably explode, so it's best we let them.
Humbug and that,
Ian.
I made a cardinal mistake early on in our marriage that I NEVER made again. It was our 2nd Christmas together. We were living on Crete and our son had just been born the month before. I had no clue what my wife wanted for Christmas and little to choose from in the BX. I saw a rice steamer, I knew she loved rice - she's always cooking the bloody stuff - so I bought it. I imagine you could check any standard reference guide on women in the world for faces she made as the various emotions occurred:
1) what the hell is this?
2) oh my. a kitchen appliance.
3) a, a, a rice steamer? WTF?
4) once again male stupidity has reared it's ugly head. what a moron. all I need for Christmas is an oblique reminder of what he expects me to do the other 364 days in the year.
5) I guess he meant well.
6) grin and pretend to like it.
I have NEVER EVER bought her an appliance for Christmas or her birthday again.
So, look on the bright side - you aren't married to my 23 year-old-self.
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