It’s Christmas Eve, and Polimom has triumphed over procrastination again. The presents are ready (and even wrapped!), we have all the ingredients to bake Santa’s cookies, and the stockings are hung. Gifts have been arriving all week, steadily expanding to inhabit every square inch of space beneath the tree.
By tomorrow morning, they’ll have spread beyond the tree skirt — but we have a bit of unanticipated space there, because today, I’m removing a couple that have been there for a week. Before I lose my courage, I’ll pull them out, tear off and throw away the festive wrappings and bows, and match them up with their receipts so I can return them next week.
They are labeled “Mom”.
No, there’s nothing wrong with my mother — at least not in the physical sense. She’s merely decided that she no longer wants to spend Christmas with us, nor does she want to exchange gifts (although she’s planning to “drop off” something for Adorable Child (AC), maybe around New Year’s).
She’s “uncomfortable” in my home, she says, because we have a tree, and gifts, and love, but we’re not Christian, and to her, that means we have no right to the holiday. After many years of family gatherings and happy memories in my home, she’s now offended by us.
I wish she, and all who judge like this, could have been at my house Friday night, when the spirit of the season stood singing on my porch. It doesn’t have to be this way.