Christmas: Joy or Juggernaut?

I’ve heard that the illuminated Coca Cola lorry and commercials signals the start of the Christmas countdown for many. I think it’s an apt symbol of the juggernaut that is Christmas, and I’m going to talk about how I jumped off. 

‘I’m dreading Christmas.’ The words tumbled from my mouth like rock fall in the Alps; unexpected, but inevitable given the change in climate.

These aren’t my words today, they were when my kids were 5 and 7 years old. It was November and we’d gone on a lovely sailing holiday with two other sets of parents from our kid’s school, sans kids. Just as land had become something we viewed from afar, ‘Christmas’ began to gain perspective too.

My husband’s response was a stunned

‘But why?’

Just like everything we do almost reflexively, out of duty, those around us simply accept it as something we must surely enjoy.

‘I thought you loved Christmas.’  

‘I do, but…’ The ‘but’ does a lot of heavy lifting until its muscles give way.

My husband, being the brilliant husband that he is, pressed me to explain.

What I slowly realised was that when I’d stepped into the role of matriarch I set about trying to heal my own childhood whilst juggling the pressures and expectations placed on me by my mother in law and society.

My operating system was saying. ‘You want your kids to have a good Christmas, don’t you?’ and my mind began searching for what that meant.

My own memories of Christmas weren’t good. They first went sideways the year I had begged for a pair of roller boots because I was an obsessive skater and only had those ones that have buckles for attaching to your plimsolls. My parents wrapped up a single boot and told me they couldn’t afford the other until it was my birthday. I was so full of empathy for them, and our plight at being so poor, that I skated up and down the road outside my house with that one boot trying to reassure them of how happy I was. I slowly realised they were laughing at me. There are far more cruel things kids experience, but it was the beginning of the end of any magic.

My father then spent years working in Saudia Arabia, trying to make tax-free income to make up for everything he’d lost when we fled South Africa. He would return after Christmas, probably because the flights were cheaper. My mother made us wait until he came home before we could do anything Christmassy, which conveniently meant that our presents could be bought in the sales, but it also meant that it never felt like Christmas and I was fundamentally confused about which day it even fell on.

I’m not asking for violins, I’m putting into context why so many of this current generation of parents have lost our way.

What is Christmas, and how should it be done?

Social media and social pressure has given us Elf on the Shelf, brie triangle canapes decorated to look like Christmas trees, lighting that’s so perfect and plentiful it looks AI, nothing like the tangle I have to manage each year, and the Coke Christmas juggernaut; and apt representation of how it feels for many parents. There are so many influencers influencing that everyone seems to have forgotten the original and best; AKA Jesus Christ.

When I finally admitted I was dreading Christmas, I think it was the pressure from my mother-in-law that was crippling me most. She was highly competitive and absolutely focused on the quality of the food and decorations, whilst I’d happily eat the decorations if it meant we could fast-track to the bit where we get to play games; something that was never on offer in her Christmas menu.

Having heard me out my husband simply asked ‘What do you want? Do that’. I was stunned. Wait, you mean I’m in charge? I was genuinely surprised by how easily he handed the baton to me. It’s now obvious why.

Just the other day I turned on the lights I had hung from the house guttering. They are a dancing cascade of joy that carries us through the dismal 4pm nightfall. My kids see them, gasp, clap and run around in little circles of joy, even though they’re now 17 and 19. When I asked my husband what he thought he said, ‘What lights?’ and had to go outside to look again.

Apparently, Gwyneth Paltrow feels ‘alone’ at this time of year too, according to The Times newspaper. Her husband Brad Falchuk ‘just wants it all to be over’, and it seems that many men feel the same way. So why are we doing it and for whom?

Once I had stepped back and thought about what I really wanted for Christmas everything began to change. I cut back on food preparation, as a family we made a pact that adult presents could cost no more than £20, (except for intimate partners) I re-use the same decorations every year, even photographing the rooms so that I can remember exactly how to reassemble the joy. Most of all, I made Christmas lunch something that was fun but short, ushering people on to play games. Hurrah!

The first time I introduced the games my mother-in-law was not impressed, and very reticent. I get it, it’s disorienting to encounter change, but she enjoyed them so much that she wanted to keep playing. Sometimes we have to be brave and push on through the inevitable resistance.

As time has moved on and my kids became teens they have continued to adore Christmas; in fact, it’s their favourite time of year. Why? It’s not really the presents, or the food, it’s because of the intimate joy of family time together without distractions. They associate it not with arguments and me being short-tempered because I must get the food on the table and ‘who’s going to scrub that pans?’ they associate it with warmth and fun.

Having escaped the juggernaut, we have slowly crept forward with our traditions, trying things and discussing what we liked and didn’t. It turned out my husband hates turkey. We did a poll, everyone else was ambivalent. We now have a Beef Wellington, which he made entirely himself last year. This is a man who has never really taken an interest in cooking, or Christmas. He also loves lighting the brandy and pouring it over the Christmas pudding. Over the years he has caught onto the Christmas magic and is so much more engaged.

My girls love spending the morning in matching pyjamas, unpacking their stockings which I mostly fill with small necessities. We all help with the lunch, much of which is pre-made and just needs to go in the oven, then we exchange gifts and call anyone who is missing from the group. After that we crack out the games and spend the afternoon laughing and giving each other the undivided attention only family activities can offer. Later we settle down to watch a Christmas film.

There are so many ways to ‘do’ Christmas. I used to love going to church when I was friends with a girl whose family would go. Now we host a carols get-together for our local community in the days leading up to Christmas. For the first decade or so my husband was not a fan. This year he was the first to talk about it.

For me, Christmas is now less like a red lorry that has lost its brakes and more like inherited furniture. It’s wonderful, something to treasure and respect, but sometimes it doesn’t fit and you have to decide what’s worth keeping and what needs to go.