Hannah keeps asking me if it’s Christmastime yet. She is mucho excited about this holiday, I can tell you. There is nothing that she is not looking forward to – hardly surprising, considering this is a holiday pretty much tailor-made for a 3-year-old.
And me? I am going to confess that I also love Christmas and all of its trappings. Even balancing all of our various commitments has become fun as I watch my daughter and her friends and relatives, thick as thieves, having so much fun. Truthfully, though, my love of the holiday is not related solely to Hannah, although it is more fun with her. I have always loved Christmas. The trees, colourful packages, songs, food, lights, and feelings of goodwill. I even sort of enjoy the crowds, as everyone bustles in the common purpose of holiday preparations. And at the heart of it all, there is the holiness and solemn majesty of birth, the promise of new life that I appreciate so much more now that I have a child of my own.
This is my confession. I have been listening to Christmas music in my car for weeks. I can’t wait for the holiday to be here. As ridiculous as Christmas in August may be, I am the first one chomping at the bit of the midwinter festival. And tomorrow, tomorrow it will be December, and Sunday will kick off the Advent season, so I will have free reign. I will be able to wallow in holiday trimmings and trappings without fear of censure or sideways glances. Because, you see, it will be Christmastime, or what passes for it in our culture. Hannah and I can’t wait.