Define fun

It sort of baffles me this time of year how many things are expected to produce certain feelings.

Actually, more so, it baffles me how many people seem almost offended if your feelings don’t match those that are expected.

We were making christmas sugar cookies. They were not going well at all. Kid was in fit mode before the first pan was in the oven because the dough was sticking…. and it got much worse over the fact that the cookies swell up some, and so some of the obscure shapes like santa’s boot didn’t have enough detail to be easily identifiable. We literally ended up giving up after about 3 round cookie sheets, and rolled the rest of the dough into balls to just be made into simple round cookies. We didn’t even use the batches of gingerbread dough yet.

This was not being fun… for either of us… at all. I was rather glad when it was over…. and she’d already left the kitchen to go do other things long before that point.

The topic came up later with someone… a loaded question “you made sugar cookies? oh, that must have been a lot of fun…”. Not really wasn’t quite the answer she was looking for.

What’s with this pretending like everything holiday related is always going to be fun and magical?

Hanging lights outdoors sucks most years around here. Actually, lights even on trees frequently are a frustrating test of patience.

Family gatherings are sometimes more tense and fight-filled than joyous.

Kitchen adventures can go poorly just as easily as they can go wonderfully.

And shopping… well… shopping is sometimes a total disaster.

I sometimes wonder whether I’m just off, and whether the whole rest of the planet just enters this christmas bliss euphoria that makes all the rough edges magically disappear.

Because sometimes… the amount of real life responses people seem to expect runs right about the real they want in a tree. All the pretty, but don’t admit that the pine needles are all over the carpet…. maybe we’ll just go all plastic after all.

Sometimes things aren’t fun.

Even in late december.

If your month is perpetually filled with a soft glow from the tree and the fire that makes everything else turn into nothing but joyful bliss, I want some of whatever you are putting in your eggnog.

Actually, I probably don’t. Can you hand me that blob-shaped cookie over there? We’ll be fine over here in reality… because it tastes the same in the end.


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