Groan. It's that time of year again, already. It is Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year. A time of love and joy, faces aglow, yada yada yada. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas but I also dislike it. Why? Well, allow me my rant.
I cannot stand the materialism of it all. From the point of view of my faith (and my heart) it is about celebrating the Lord's birth. About realising the amazing gift that we have been given; it's about understanding the beginning of a journey that displayed God's love to us and much more. I could go on but for those of you with faith, you know what I'm getting at.
I hate the adverts at Christmas which tell people that if they do not buy presents that cost hundreds of pounds for their loved ones, then they don't really love them. I hate adverts that encourage people to get into debt so that they can have "a good Christmas". I hate that the real message of Christmas has been lost and so now there is unnecessary stress, debt, pressure and depression that is associated with Christmas. "Love your fellow man and demonstrate this by buying a £150 camera for him. Do not deprive your six year old and psychologically scar them for life, buy them the brand new iPad". Bah humbug.
I do love the celebration of Jesus' birth. I love that I get to spend this special time of year with my family. I love that everyone tries that bit harder to be kinder to each other. I love the excitement of the children when they decorate the tree. I love the stupid 'stressful' bits that make me laugh and add to the fun of Christmas. I realised this the other day as I was pondering as to why I get tense at various activities associated with Christmas. Let me share some of these with you.
Shopping. To begin with, I get stressed and terrified at the thought of Christmas shopping. My reasons are justified. I'm nearly 6ft tall which naturally makes me invisible to everybody in a shopping centre, especially at Christmas. People literally charge at me and try to walk through me! I have been out shopping and come home with a cut leg from a man who smacked a box into me and carried on walking; bruises from people barging me out the way and a spinning head where they literally spin me right round sometimes. My friends found this hard to believe, as did the Raving Rev, until they shopped with me and witnessed it for themselves. Needless to say, they found this hilarious. I found it disturbing. I have found a solution for it - New Rock boots! People don't see me but they notice the boots. The one woman who did not notice the boots and charged at me soon noticed me when the boots made contact with her shins. No, I did not kick her on purpose but there isn't much you can do when someone is intent on walking through you as you're going forward. So if you are also invisible, grab yourself a pair of New Rocks, they rock hahaha.
Shopping also holds the memory for me where I did kind of end up in a fight with a woman over a bar of chocolate. It was the most surreal thing and I couldn't believe it happened. Years ago I went into Woolworths (that's how long ago!) to get myself some pick and mix. I was feeling particularly sorry for myself (that was the day I got the cut leg from the manic man in the manic Christmas crowd) and needed sweets. Whilst in there I noticed that there was a bar of Bournville chocolate left on the sweet rack. At that time the Raving Rev loved Bournville chocolate and I thought that would make a nice wee stocking present for him. So I went over and reached out to pick it up. As I did, out of nowhere (I swear there was no-one near the sweets as I approached them) a woman's hand came and shoved mine out of the way. She wanted the chocolate bar. I was shocked at her rudeness and would normally just walk away moaning but I'd been trying to do Christmas shopping. I had received 36 bruises and a cut leg. I was far from happy and peaceful. I was a woman on the edge who only wanted a bar of chocolate to take home to her other half. I glowered at her and shoved her hand out of the way. I grabbed the bar of chocolate and heard her tut. The next thing I knew, she slapped my hand! This insane woman actually slapped my hand. Here it began, here was the stand off. A possible PMT woman who was on a chocolate craving versus a tall, irate, fed-up, battered and bruised redhead. It was on. I grabbed a Snickers bar and smacked her in the nose with it; she grabbed a fruit and nut bar and whacked me over the head with; I grabbed a caramel cup and shoved it up her nose........ok, no I didn't. I wanted too but I didn't. What actually happened when she smacked my hand was that I did the only thing that I could do. I grabbed the chocolate bar, whacked her on the back of the hand with it, and walked off to pay for it. Amazingly, the chocolate bar wasn't broken haha. Peace and goodwill to all men? Not when it comes to Christmas shopping and chocolate bars.
Then there is the wrapping of the presents - the conspiracy of the wrapping paper and cellotape. Why does it take hours to wrap one single present yet seconds to tear it off? Every year I spend hours wrapping presents. Usually there are casualities. Like the time the dog decided to help me and we both ended up being bound together in a ball with the cellotape wrapped tightly and firmly around us. The doorbell rang and I had to half roll, walk and carry myself and the dog to the door. The salesman looked shocked and then asked the most stupid question I've ever heard "Is this a bad time?". He didn't even help to unstick us!
The cellotape that always curls back on itself and ends up in an unusable ball. The way the cellotape manages to end up in my hair and stuck to my eyebrows (no? Am I the only one this happens to?). The labels and pens that always disappear. The paper that rips just as you've stuck the last piece of cellotape on grrrr. Oh the joys.
After all this is the fun bit of ripping open the presents on Christmas morning. I have a very fond memory of this. I had managed to get the Raving Rev a signed, first edition, hardback book that he wanted. I carefully wrapped it, put a lovely ribbon on it and a big bow. I handed it over to him with a big smile and watched in, at first pleasure and then horror as he ripped the paper off and at the same time ripped right through the dustcover of the book. Thus rendering the semi-valuable, hard to get book, worthless. He looked at me with a sheepish grin whilst my dad restrained me to stop me from strangling him.
I also have the brilliant memory of the time the Raving Rev and I received the best gifts in the world which has then rendered us pains ever since as we now want nothing else at Christmas. My mum and dad saved up and decided to treat the Raving Rev to a 32GB iPod. He had wanted one for so long and we had no hope of getting him one as they were to expensive. Well on that Christmas morning my mum saved that present until last and bought it out for him. He was so overwhelmed that he began to tear up, awww. This made my mum get a bit tearful and my dad also welled up. Then, unknown to me, my mum produced a present for me. It was the Canon digital SLR that I had been longing for. Never in a million years did I think that I would get it. I was so happy that I started crying. Proper sobbing and honking crying. This made the Raving Rev start to sob, my mum started to wail and my dad left the room sobbing. I bought the house down like a pack of cards! It was a wonderful Christmas and makes me smile and giggle every time I think of it (and give my camera a little hug).
So we've done the shopping, wrapped the presents, ripped the wrapping off the presents (and ripped the presents), up next is the food. Two memories fly to mind here. The first was where we had langoustines for starters. The Raving Rev and my mum were ripping the heads and tails off them like savages and stuffing the innards into their mouths. My dad and I sat there, at the table, watching this massacre in horror. We tried to prise our langoustines out of their shells but they were having none of it. According to the Raving Rev,our hands are too soft. My dad and I gave up trying to eat them and just watched, in morbid fascination, as my mum and the RR disemboweled the langoustines and ate them. I felt like I was watching some sort of strange nature programme, like when the seals grab the penguins or the lions get the zebras. A bizarre sensation to have at the Christmas dinner table.
Later that day, after a little bit of alcohol, the Raving Rev decided to resurrect the langoustines and retrieved them from the bin. He then placed them on each of his fingers and put on a disturbing langoustine puppet show for all of us. My mum laughed, so did my dad and I sat there proudly thinking "Good grief, I'm going out with that".
Another meal memory was where we all sat down to the Christmas dinner. My dad decided to carve the turkey but couldn't get much meat off it. We were all surprised and disappointed, given the size of the turkey. Still we had a lovely dinner with merriment and laughter. It was only the next day that we realised that the turkey had been put onto the plate UPSIDE-DOWN! Duh. None of us had noticed and yet, in all the photos, you could clearly see it was upside-down. Says a lot for my family.
So I've rambled and rambled and shared a couple of memories. Despite the materialism and lost message, I love Christmas. I love the memories it creates. I'm thankful for those that I get to share Christmas with. Even though I don't appreciate them at the moments they happen, even the stressful bits are fun. Like yesterday's shopping for a Christmas tree with my mum. Four hours we were out looking for a tree! We drove about 50 miles! We visited what felt like 20 different places. We laughed, then grumbled, then started sobbing as we couldn't find one. I accidentally strangled my mum in the garden centre. In the end, in the pitch black, we found one. It's waiting to be decorated. I'll wait for the Raving Rev to do that, I'm not sure there's enough alcohol in the house to get me through that with a smile haha.
I hope that you all have a Merry Christmas. Laugh at the stressful bits. Know that you are loved.
Be blessed.
xxx
