As I've gotten older, I've developed a love/hate relationship with the holidays. Long gone are the simple days of waiting for a strange man to enter my house, carrying everything I've asked for. (Except for the puppy surprise I begged for when i was 9, but that's another story. . .) Nevermore can I get away with giving "hug coupons" to my parents. The excitement and anticipation of the season has since been diluted to another stressful, worrisome time of year.
While I LOVE the decorations, the weather, the music, the parades associated with this time of year, I always let my monetary status get the better of me, and I hate to say it is the source of my annual holiday funk.
Why do I let this happen every year? Why can't I, like Cindy-Lou Who find and understand the TRUE meaning of Christmas? Why do I, a grown woman, get overly-emotional and teary-eyed at parades?
I don't know.
But I do know that Christmas isn't really about presents. . .
It's about spiked egg-nog.
And I'm a little lactose intolerant.