it is but once a year

Christmas. It’s come, and it’s gone just as quickly. I’m often amazed at how fast time seems to be going by. I barely have enough time to get my head situated on my own shoulders, let alone grasp if it’s a Monday or a Thursday.

It’s been two, maybe three years since I’ve been home for the Holidays. I truly haven’t decided if this upsets me or if I’m just ok with it.

My mom has never been one for Christmas spirit, or for any kind of joyous feelings in general. Over the years, little by little she’s weeded away any festive decoration in the house and eventually stopped all together. The last Christmas I was home I remember seeing a foot tall wooden stick with random sticks branching out from it, taking on some odd shaped Christmas tree. Small wooden ornaments barely the size of my thumb hung from the branches.

It tugged on my heartstrings, and made me ache for a different kind of holiday. A holiday with a family, or with a person who cares.

My grandma always stressed out about the holidays. Giving empty threats and guilt trips when my mom didn’t want to travel down to her house. Which is a 10 minute car ride, even in bad weather.

No one likes to be bothered in my family, especially not for the sake of family. They do things out of obligation or to complain about them later.

I got my Chihuahua in 2006, shortly before Christmas. I wasn’t able to come home on public transportation so my mom and her boyfriend drove out to get me, as well as the person I was dating.

The drive is a total of 4 ½ hours, maybe 5 if you aren’t hustling. This was the first time since I moved to Boston that my mother bothered to come visit. She didn’t even come into my apartment.

That Christmas we fought, like most of our Christmas’ over a present. She’s the type of person that always needs to make sure everyone knows the sacrifices and hardships she’s gone through. Even if it’s just to give you a present.

They drove us home the day after Christmas in complete silence and left in silence.

That was when traveling home for Christmas lost all joy.

It’s always boiled down to how much money she’s spent, or how much she hates the holidays. Her kids are grown, but that doesn’t mean we want to hear all the awful things she has to say.

The worst of which is her “don’t ever have kids, kids just suck the life out of you, having kids is stupid “ speech. I think she often forgets we are her kids, even if we are grown.

For the first time in my life I’ve had someone that makes the holidays bearable. All the way from Kh’s friends inviting me to join their holiday gift giving traditions, to spending this Christmas at her families house.

I’m starting to build up my own holiday traditions with someone that knows me so very well. I look forward to buying her presents and seeing her reaction, because I love making her happy and proving just how well I know her and what she wants.

I hate consumerism. I’m really not all for it. But I just can’t stop myself from wanting to make her happy and watch her open gifts. I’d do it every day all year if I had the money for it.

I remember past Christmas’ and they all turn into a blur. A hazy memory of things that weren’t quite perfect.

Now. Now they are. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Without my little family.