Writing Myself Out

I have yet to finish up the letter to Sara that will be my day 3 entry, but I will not let perfectionism get in the way of posting this response to the next Journal Your Christmas prompt, which has to do with your “perfect Christmas”.

Perfectionism… It’s a nasty bit of trickery our minds play on us, making us believe that if what we do or what others do or what our situation in life is (location, finances, etc.) doesn’t measure up to either our desires or our expectations, we simply can’t enjoy it. Christmastime seems to be particularly plagued by such thinking… so in order to combat it, let me just get this out there: if I had my “perfect” Christmas, it would not look like the one I will be experiencing this year.

In my perfect world, December would be 31 days of sunshine with just a skiff of white, glittering snow on the sidewalks, and temperatures no lower than -10 Celsius. I would be able to easily locate numerous pairs of correctly-matched, stylish gloves, and head out to see well-pruned lilac bushes, peonies and tiger lilies ready to bloom next summer in my front yard, and my paid-off, in great condition silver Malibu still in my driveway instead of crushed beyond recognition in some auto wrecking dump since the thief destroyed it last November (although the replacement Toyota Sienna mini-van would still be here as well, to make trips with Sara easier). The town would have a well-stocked local bookstore, a coffeehouse open both on Sundays and Mondays (which it is not) but after 5 p.m. as well, and a movie theatre closer than an unaffordable 200-plus kilometres away, playing “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” on the big screen.

I would not be worried at all about what will happen to our “budget” in January, once my maternity leave runs out, or about Sara’s upcoming CT scan (in fact, she would not be needing one at all). My sister-in-law’s pregnancy would not be considered risky, and either we would be travelling out to B.C. to spend Christmas with my brother Curtis and his family, or he, Pauline and Haven would be coming here for Christmas Eve, along with my parents, instead of Mom and Dad being in B.C. with them and without us. And if my Christmas was absolutely perfect, the house would be sparkling clean (ideally thanks to a housekeeper), my lower back would not hurt, and I would never yell in frustration at my baby girl’s antics, and then cry because of my flaws as a mommy.

And finally, amongst the branches of our gorgeous, 7 ft. tall, genuine Christmas tree, which would never shed any dry needles or threaten to topple over (and thus need to be attached to the curtain rod with a strap), and which could have decorations right to the bottom while Sara simply looked with awe and never grabbed for a ball or chewed on a string of lights, there would be a very enticing envelope which I would know, just KNOW, contained a pair (or maybe more, so family members and a nanny could come too) of tickets for a fabulous two-week cruise to Mexico or Hawaii for the beginning of February, when the winter weather here is at its most horrible. Oh, and we wouldn’t owe anything for them, and all the rest of our debt would be paid off too – even the mortgage.

And now that THAT’S out of the way, I will say, ‘Hallelujah – my actual Christmas is still going to be wonderful,’ and remember this:

“The gloom of the world
Is but a shadow;
Behind it,
Yet within reach,
Is joy.
Take Joy.” – Fra Giovanni