Do We Know It's Christmas Time At All?

Procrastinating on Christmas Eve, with a nod and a wink to BandAid.

Christmas Eve late afternoon at Roosevelt Field Mall.

The tradition at the Mothership is not to place presents under the tree until Christmas morning. I have never remembered a time when wrapping happened earlier than Christmas Eve night.

Cornish game hens, red rice, salad, mushroom lobster soup.

Perhaps it was a function of celebrating Réveillon in the French colonial tradition. Apparently we are to stay awake through midnight into the early morning of Christmas. But the result - eating late into the evening, barely awake, no time to digest - just feels absurd for a modern American lifestyle, and at odds with the Santa tradition of getting to bed early and staying on the good list to get the presents.

Maybe it came about because we never believed in Santa - at least, I don't think I ever believed; I was just too wise to the world, and I was probably too young to be entrusted or recruited into keeping the knowledge a secret and preserving the magical fantasy for Sissy or Lil' Bro if either of them ever believed. I mean, Papa Rooster tells the story of pushing one of us in a stroller and someone pointing out the colorful cover of a book of food stamps on the ground and saying, "Look, money!" The cover was abandoned and empty. But we were wisened to the world and knew that meant food. Apparently it motivated him to work harder and get our family up and out of that struggling status. Anyway, I do have vague memories around when I was in nursery school, in the city we lived in prior to moving to New York City, of going to a Salvation Army "store" and picking out a gift, and that was the one I got for Christmas. So we knew where gifts came from early on.

My full plate.

So there's never been any hiding that the Christmas production requires the work and efforts of the whole family. And it's rare that Christmas Eve wasn't a work or school day like any other; it's not as if there was proper leisure time to put everything together, let alone go shopping. So is it any wonder we got into the habit of putting it off?

That said, without the "magic" of Santa needing to be preserved for little children in our immediate family, and absent any of the Christian religious imperative to observe the perceived birth anniversary of any savior child, as we've moved well into the stage of geriatric and middle aged, mostly secular observance, we have of late evolved to debating about how much, and whether, to even bother with the tree. Even the artificial one has gotten to be too much effort, particularly when the tree has become somewhat tired-looking from too many rounds of floofing for display, followed by constriction for storage; those wired branches can only bend and unbend so many times. The poor thing has started to drop its own plastic needles.

And gift exchanges. We've gotten real, and practical. At one point there were lists that gifters could choose to fulfill. We have all done the cash and gift cards. This year, Mama Hen requested we purchase our own, and we will be reimbursed. I actually seriously contemplated getting myself a replacement toilet seat for this purpose; I think I'll get myself a Marie Viljoen foraging walk instead - it is a bit of a luxury and would be a nice treat. Today, our foray into the mall came about because Sissy had waited till today for shopping (unlike her - usually she is an online shopping fiend and orders well in advance, copious numbers of small and large items), and took Lil' Bro in to select and try on his gifts. I made the most of Cyber Monday this year, selecting the same useful, practical, nice to have but not absolutely necessary item for everyone. I would just as soon dispense with the gift exchange altogether and just gather for food and the company of family.

Anyway, we may have outdone ourselves with the procrastination this year. There is no tree (although I did drag the box out of the basement as a first step, inspired by the 2 minute rule; it took 4 for the drag, but still pretty good and in the spirit of the rule). There are no stockings up. Mama Hen waited so long that there is not even a poinsettia for purchase anywhere.

Maybe, perhaps, it is generational trauma playing itself out ... Decades of war and upheaval, forced abandonment of material possessions, impoverished and spartan beginnings, followed by a reactionary gathering of too many things into a cluttered space to make up for the lean times, a learned comfort with chaos, then self-inflicted and imposed artificial mayhem via procrastination only to exert control over it all to feel our own power, and arriving back to the stripped down truth and comfort that we only need family/ourselves to feel safe. A difficult cycle to break.

Next year we may retire the current tree for a simpler pop-up version.