Tradition! Tradition!

A very, very long time ago LOML and I gave up on having “The Perfect Holiday”. We came to the County in 1972 for a new life. We thought we’d be here for a couple of years and then head back to Toronto, but here we are. Fifty years of trying to decide the W5 of holidays. Who will we celebrate with? What are we celebrating? Where will we be when we celebrate? When will we celebrate? Why bother to celebrate at all?

In our early Picton years, around Christmastime, we knew the answer to those W5 questions. Until we felt like we really didn’t. Our holiday routine usually meant packing the gifts, the suitcases, the kids, the stuffies, the potty, the kids’ travel snacks, the adults’ travel snacks, the over-excited kids and the stressed-out adults into the Rolls-Can-Hardly and head to the homeland—Toronto. After a long, noisy, tense drive on the 401 we would park the R-C-H, unpack the gifts, the suitcases, the kids, the stuffies, the potty, the leftover snacks, the now overtired kids and the incredibly grumpy adults into a family members house, make sleeping arrangements that sorta-kinda worked for all of us and begin a “holiday” week of driving around visiting other family members. Somewhere in there a bit of last minute shopping happened in an overcrowded and overheated mall. There would be tears and meltdowns, sometimes even the kids had tears and meltdowns. There would be tantrums. There would be a general crankiness. There most definitely would be far too much food, too many candy canes and enough drink to make Bad Santa blush. There would be headaches, belly aches and heartaches. Christmas Eve would be a whirlwind of more of the same with a healthy dose of overstimulated children who really just wanted to be at home. It never felt like Christmas to LOML and I. We weren’t even sure our children knew what a delightful holiday Christmas could have been because it was always chaos and havoc, bad tempers and all manner of hangovers. It had become, for all of us, the most dreadful time of year. By the time we packed the presents, the suitcases, the kids, more snacks and the grumpy attitude in the R-C-H to head back to the County, LOML and I were barely speaking with each other, the kids were sad and sick and it was time to think about going back to work. Within a couple of days of being home the late night adults’ discussion would be around how the travel and the excess of everything was affecting a holiday which should have been fun. For years we’d teeter on the edge of deciding to stay home and put an end to the foolishness. But, as you know, the holiday season is often the Guilt Season. And our families were as good as the next dishing up healthy dollops of guilt with regard to what Christmas really meant and who should be where, when and with whom. And then?

Well, and then LOML and I devised a plan. First of all, LOML and I decided we’d rip the bandaid off and celebrate in our own home, preferably in our snuggly jammies with our adult coffees with our kids and their mugs of hot cocoa. We agreed that we didn’t have to provide a reason for our Halt on the Holiday Havoc. Surprisingly, our decision to stay home and embrace the calm was only questioned by two people. Two people who moved from having raised eyebrows to serving us small dish of guilt. It wasn’t easy to hear all of the reasons why we should make the trip but we didn’t back down and we didn’t offer anyone an excuse. We just said, “We’ll be in Picton enjoying the holiday with our kids. Maybe we’ll get to the city sometime in the New Year for a weekend. We hope to see you then.” And then?

Well, and then reality hit. LOML and I had to learn how to create a holiday tradition for our own family. We had to figure out what went into making the festive season happen at our house. Filling stockings, remembering to buy Christmas Crackers, and having enough rum to go with the eggnog we had to remember to buy. We had to learn how to cook an entire holiday meal without elder help to get the lumps out of the gravy and get the whole shebang to the table at the same time. Learning to cook a turkey was a bit daunting. Our Moms had Christmas dinner down to a fine science. How much turkey does a family of five need? How long does a turkey need to cook? What does a person do with all of the icky bits inside the turkey? Speaking of turkey, someone forgot to tell us to thaw it first. And, on and on. Like a lot of family traditions, ours took years to develop. These days we usually stay home. We’re here if our kids decide to join us but we know they have to get started on their own Holiday traditions. We’ve been making traditions, memories and mistakes about holidays for almost two decades now. It’s a tradition in the making.

I hope y’all have a Happy Holiday. See you in 2023!

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca