I’ve had a bit of writers block lately, and by that I mean I have been avoiding writing for weeks, because emotions. It’s easier to isolate myself emotionally and wall up those pesky feelings than it is to share them. And anything that I write that is not 100% authentic ends up being utter bullshit. So, for the sake of authenticity, let me just start by saying that Christmas can suck it. And by “Christmas” I mean the Hallmark holiday, not the celebration of Christ’s birth… I’m not a monster. But seriously, the first Christmas tree of the season that I saw I wanted to set on fire. I was on my way to a morning class and as I turned a corner, there it was- all sparkly and festive and plastic. A caricature of the Christmas spirit. It was hideous. But after seeing it 17 times per week until finals were over, it became less menacing. And after hearing the first Christmas song, singing Christmas hymns in church didn’t bother me. And walking through the doors of the first Christmas party so that my kids could see Santa was like pulling teeth, but then Santa wasn’t so bad the next time we saw him. And after buying the first of the few gifts that I did buy, the spirit of giving overtook me and I stopped being so Grinch-y. Still, Hallmark Christmas and I are not friends, and if I could go hide in some area of the Earth that didn’t celebrate Christmas and stay there from early November through late January, I would. And I feel sort of guilty about that. During a time where I should be feeling thankful for the things I have, I’m feeling bitter. When I should be wanting to spend time with the people I love, I want to isolate myself. When I should be wanting to put up a Christmas tree with Thomas and Luke, I want to torch all the Christmas decorations I see. Like straight up mow them down with fire. And it just sucks. Last year for Christmas, Gregg, Thomas, and newborn Luke and I decorated a gingerbread house. That was a tradition that Gregg and I started the first Christmas we spent together. Our houses always turned out terribly ugly, and what’s worse, they don’t even taste particularly good when you get them out of a box. But it was our thing and it was fun. I had bought four presents each for Thomas and Luke, because I hate “stuff”. I don’t even remember what I got Gregg. How is that possible? He got me a diaper bag, which sounds lame, but it’s totally not. A couple of weeks before Christmas, I had complained about my neck and shoulder hurting after trying to carry Luke in the ergo while balancing a diaper bag on my shoulder. He got me Petunia Pickle Bottom backpack style bag. He called it the “Rolls Royce” of diaper bags, which it is. He even called his sister to help him pick it out. He was a really great gift giver. I’ll be sad when I no longer have to lug it around with me. Anyway, then the four of us went up to Snowflake. I packed the stockings that I had sewn for us and loaded up the (unwrapped) presents. And then we wrapped, and laughed, and cried, and decorated the tree, and opened presents, and cooked, and then Gregg was gone. So yeah, Christmas sucks now. And maybe it won’t always be that way, but this year it’s that way. And it’s ok that things suck. I really believe that experiencing the crappy parts of mortality is important. It’s how we grow. And while I’m usually all for highlighting the positive, sometimes that’s worse. Sometimes looking on the bright side feels like looking into the sun, painful and stupid. Best to just look at the ground until you can see more than two feet in front of you. And that’s ok, eventually you can look up again.