Holidays ~ by Wendy Shuman
I’m having a hard time giving up the holidays. It’s not that I don’t want to celebrate—it’s just that I can’t be the main producer of holiday joy anymore. I realized at Thanksgiving this year I don’t have the energy or stamina.
We were thrilled when our two kids, their spouses, and four grandchildren agreed to stay with us for several days over Thanksgiving. They live many hours apart in Maryland and Massachusetts, and they don’t see each other often. We love that our home in New Jersey is right in the middle, the perfect meeting place.
Every room in our townhouse was occupied—pull-out sofas, trundle beds, the guest room in the basement (euphemistically called the lower level) were all in use. The fridge was jammed, the table set with candles and holiday linens. But the pre-cooked Kings turkey was still cold after three hours in the oven. Our kids all converged on the stove at the same time to make their individual contributions. The little ones were hard to keep at the table—plus, it turned they don’t like turkey. Cue the mac and cheese.
Well, best to keep a lid on expectations. I came down with a debilitating flu after everyone left. For many years I was the principal holiday joy producer of the family. In our Montclair house, we had at all tree of crackling pine from Fred’s on Grove Street. Stockings were hung on the fireplace. In honor of our family’s mixed heritage, we lit Hanukkah candles and gave out small nightly gifts. I would rush home from work to attend holiday concerts, bake cookies, write the cards, go caroling, and, late at night after everyone was in bed, wrap presents.
On the big day, the children would wake us up early, and, in our Santa hats, my husband and I would hand out gifts. My dear parents of blessed memory would arrive from the city. We had roast beef, which I always overcooked. Like many parents, I was trying to a recreate a Hallmark holiday special that never existed. My own childhood holidays were extremely scaled back by comparison. An only child, I got a couple of presents, usually a doll and a book. I remember that my Christmas stocking contained fillers like a bottle of seltzer and some oranges in the toe. But the main thing I remember is that our holidays were produced by someone else! My aunt on Long Island or my cousins in Connecticut. (My working mom didn’t cook, so we always went elsewhere on Christmas.)
Now it is time to pass the torch to a new generation (to paraphrase JFK). Our children love the holidays and want to create memories for their own children. My advice is: keep it low-key. And invite us. We’ll be there.
