We’re just over a week away from thanksgiving. It seems really late this year, and that means that the Christmas decorations feel like they’re really early. So many people I know get frustrated and angry about the Christmas tinsel popping up mid-November, and I often make the little snorts of derision along with them as they shout their tirades.
But it’s all lies.
Hello. My name is Lizzie. I’m 41 years old and I cannot get enough of Christmas.
I love it. I do. The lights! The snowflakes! The trees! The Santas! I cannot speak for people who do not celebrate the holiday and may feel utterly opressed by the sheer volume of stuff there is in every book and cranny of every retail location and town center, but it’s all so magical to me. It always has been. I have tiny memories, snippets, of early Christmases. I remember dolly high chairs and a Cabbage Patch Kid. I remember a giant stocking full of interesting tiny toys from the nuns on my dad’s side of the family. I remember an astronaut Barbie. More than anything, though, I remember laughing. There was always such wonder and joy. At an early age I developed a love of giving which is pretty strongly felt in my entire family. I had good role models on that one. I get so excited about the gifts I’m putting under the tree that I have to stop myself from ruining the surprise for my family. It’s sort of insane.
So there it is, one of my dark secrets. When people are upset that Christmas is coming too soon, I’m humming the carols to myself. I’m planning what decoration I get to add to the collection this year. I’m picking which cookies to leave out for Santa. At the end of the day, I’m more of a kid than my kid, and that’s really ok with me.