The best Christmas ever... that's a tough call. Not counting the ones when I was a small child, as those are always the best one ever, I'm not sure one qualifies as "the best".
I have moments from every Christmas that are wonderful. I know that sounds sappy, but it's true.
When my brother was small, he liked to jump. No idea why, he just jumped when he was happy, or hyper, or really excited for something. He got a toy for Christmas that came in the plastic packaging that requires a blow torch and a college degree to open, and he (at three/four thought his older sister could do anything) handed it to me with "Here Sissy, you do it."
I can still remember the feeling of his hot little hands on my kneecaps as he jumped up and down in front of me while I wrestled with that stupid damn package. Eventually I got it open, he screamed "Thank you Sissy! I love you!" and spent the rest of the day playing with it.
When I was eighteen, I got a cell phone for Christmas. I'm sure you can figure out why a teenager was thrilled to get her first cell.
At twenty-two, I got woken up early by the jumping little brother (who was no longer so little and no longer jumped when excited) and spent the day in my pajamas with my mother watching the holiday parade and fielding phone calls from family.
Last Christmas was both wonderful and awful. It was wonderful because it was a day of family, both blood and adopted, and awful because my then husband called and made me feel bad.
I went with my mother, my best friend, and my not-bio dad to see Sherlock Holmes when it opened. We gorged on popcorn, then went out to the bar. I thought it was strange, going to a bar on Christmas night, but I spent the time with friends who mean the world to me.
This Christmas isn't ever going to be "the best", but it's better than others. I'm poorer than ever, but I'm free to celebrate my way. I can decorate a tree however I want, I can cook whatever I want, and I sing whatever Christmas Carols I want, because the only one who is around to hear is the dog, and she thinks I'm perfect either way.
I have moments from every Christmas that are wonderful. I know that sounds sappy, but it's true.
When my brother was small, he liked to jump. No idea why, he just jumped when he was happy, or hyper, or really excited for something. He got a toy for Christmas that came in the plastic packaging that requires a blow torch and a college degree to open, and he (at three/four thought his older sister could do anything) handed it to me with "Here Sissy, you do it."
I can still remember the feeling of his hot little hands on my kneecaps as he jumped up and down in front of me while I wrestled with that stupid damn package. Eventually I got it open, he screamed "Thank you Sissy! I love you!" and spent the rest of the day playing with it.
When I was eighteen, I got a cell phone for Christmas. I'm sure you can figure out why a teenager was thrilled to get her first cell.
At twenty-two, I got woken up early by the jumping little brother (who was no longer so little and no longer jumped when excited) and spent the day in my pajamas with my mother watching the holiday parade and fielding phone calls from family.
Last Christmas was both wonderful and awful. It was wonderful because it was a day of family, both blood and adopted, and awful because my then husband called and made me feel bad.
I went with my mother, my best friend, and my not-bio dad to see Sherlock Holmes when it opened. We gorged on popcorn, then went out to the bar. I thought it was strange, going to a bar on Christmas night, but I spent the time with friends who mean the world to me.
This Christmas isn't ever going to be "the best", but it's better than others. I'm poorer than ever, but I'm free to celebrate my way. I can decorate a tree however I want, I can cook whatever I want, and I sing whatever Christmas Carols I want, because the only one who is around to hear is the dog, and she thinks I'm perfect either way.
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