Scrouge........

I'm laying under my gorgeous Christmas tree wishing I never had to take it down. 

I'm watching my children play outside in the trees with 3 couch cushions and my old robe. 

I'm looking at all their Christmas presents scattered on the floor and what I think is half a chocolate santa. Ok what I pray is half a chocolate santa. 

Did I mention we got a new puppy? 

As if I didn't love potty training enough the first four times. 

I hate Christmas. 

No one is supposed to say that. 

I actually wrote this post a couple of weeks before Christmas but couldn't bring myself to post it. 

I mean they make movies about people who hate the Christmas season. 

And I'm a mother. Of five wide eyed magic believing children. 

Ok for sure at least four. 

Here's the thing.

I love having a Christmas tree in my house. I would live in a tree all year if I could. Or under one. Or next to one. Trees speak to me. They are simplistically beautiful. 

I love simple. 

I love eating naughty things. 

I love when people bring me naughty things to eat to my door step. 

I love dancing to Christmas music with my children. It's the only time in my life I've been the best dancer in the entire room. 

I love Christ. 

I love thinking about Him. I love talking about him. I love what He came to this earth to do for me. 

And if that were Christmas I would never want it to end. 

But it's not. 

I fight the crappy commercialism of it every year. 

I fight everything that strips away the simple I work so hard to keep in my life. 

I run away from demands on my time and expectations of things I should be doing. 

I vow not to participate.

I pretend I don't know why everyone is asking for my address, and cringe at the feeling of guilt that I should be asking for theirs. But that would mean ordering Christmas cards. And that would mean family pictures. And that would mean dressing my children. And myself. And that would mean not eating naughty holiday treats. 

I take my children to the woods on every day the sun shines and convince myself that I have raised them to love the earth and sticks and pinecones and they don't need presents like other kids. 

I avoid stores at all costs. 

Not just in December. 

Pretty much Jan through December. 

I detest shopping.

I hate "stuff". 

I avoid calendars. 

I hate busy. 

(Side note I do like parties.)

(Double side note I like parties that come accompanied with a baby sitter at home)

I don't make cookies with the kids. 

I don't make cookies for the neighbors. 

I don't think of creative gift ideas for my family members. 

I don't make things cute. 

I don't make things beautiful. 

I think wrapping presents is as stupid as decorating cupcakes. 

I hate places with crowds of people.

I secretly stand on my soap box and stick it to the man all the way up until the night before Christmas Eve. I disregard the five P's and curse amazon when they can't fill my order in time. 

And just like every year I find myself walking down the cold soulless isles of wal mart fruitlessly searching for something I can crappily wrap that my children will never play with because they are not normal children, and even though Santa knows this and I convinced him that a group gift of paddle boards was perfectly enough and practical for our family, he disagreed on the grounds of not enough magical wrapping paper flying around on Christmas morning. 

Santa gives me a head ache.

And he never sticks around long enough to clean up all that Christmas magic in the following months when it turns to junk. 

Sticks from the forest never turn to junk. 

I got to the check out line around 12:45 am. I started loading my stuff on the conveyor belt and noticed the old scruffy man in front of me. He had two bananas in a bag. A small loaf of bread. A couple cans. A package of lunch meat. A few other random items. 

He pulled crumpled dollars out of his pocket and counted them out as he smoothed them. 

"Can I pay for your groceries?" I said.

"Why?" He asked

"Because walking around this store makes me want to poke my own eyes out and I desperately need a dose of Christmas spirit."

"Ok, thank you" he said

No old smelly man thank you. 

Because I love Christmas.

The simple real parts. 

I don't know how to avoid the complicated parts. 

I'm trying. 

I end up just coming off as lame.

January you are boring. 

But you allow me to be myself. 

I appreciate that. 

And I have a new paddle board with promises of months of quiet simplicity to float through. 

Santa ain't all bad. 

And I might actually go down as the first woman in history that hates Christmas but leaves her tree up all year long. 

The children are whining.

Tis the season.