Gwyneth Paltrow Makes It Hard Not to Join the Bandwagon

            I’m a brat. I’ll admit that. When everybody’s on a bandwagon, I won’t hop on it. In fact, I’ll jump on the vehicle that’s going in the opposite direction. It’s a decision initially made subconsciously and genuinely. Over time, however, I might become stubborn and look for things that continue to support my less conventional viewpoint. As I said, I’m a brat. That’s brat without a hashtag. I declared Crocs to be butt ugly and Farmville to be perplexingly boring well before everyone else collectively admitted to either. Nobody has style wearing Uggs with shorts, just sweaty feet. And you wasted approximately ten hours of your life if you watched all the Twilight movies. (No excuse if you read the books, too.) I may not be any less a conformist than the average person, but I don’t mind speaking up when a trend is not for me. A few other bandwagons I never hopped on:

I had no desire to be friends with any of the women from Sex in the City. Did women really love that show or was it just that after years of book club gatherings, they wanted an excuse to finally be able to talk about fun things, like men and sex.

To Kill a Mockingbird was not the defining book of my childhood. I don’t think it was for that many others, either; I think it was merely the only literary one people could remember reading.

I’ve never done the clean eating, juice cleanses, plant-based, vegan, almond flour, soy milk, Ayurvedic diet fads. I don’t believe in demonizing food groups. When women talk (and talk and talk) about eating whole foods, they’re really referring to the whole pack of cookies they secretly scarfed down last night. I don't mind eating my cookies in public.  

            So it was that my brattiness shifted into gear when everybody was joining the ‘I hate Gwyneth Paltrow’ bandwagon a couple of years ago. Now, there are very few non-criminal people that I hate (ok, there are three to be exact) and Gwyneth isn’t one of them. She’s not vying for our attention. It’s not like she’s Kim Kardashian, all over the Internet posting Instagrams of her butt that I invariably mistake for YouTube SNL skits.

            Sure, she was engaged to Brad Pitt during his Legends of the Fall years, which might automatically put her in the hate column. On the other hand, she’s never gotten a boob job. Even after she won the Oscar and that pink dress looked like it was going to slide all the way down to her waist for her lack of chest, she never got fake boobs. You gotta’ give the gal credit.

            Therefore, I assumed she had more substance to her until last year when she bragged about having the ass of a stripper. Not just any stripper even, but a 22-year-old stripper. Even though she went around telling people this (in case you didn’t notice on your own) and even though she spends two hours every day working out, this doesn’t make her any more narcissistic health conscious than the rest of us, I’m sure.

            And why does she have to be like the rest of us anyway? Wouldn’t it be worse if she pretended that she was just an average Jane and not a privileged Gwyneth? Her self-absorption seems genuine to me, as is the pretentiousness that accompanies it, which makes it sort of amusing. She wants to share her better ways with the rest of us. She wrote her cookbook so she can share the enlightened Gwyneth way of eating. She said she started her blog in 2008 because she has the answers the rest of us have been frustrated to find. She told Elle magazine:

"When you go to Paris and your concierge sends you to some restaurant because they get a kickback, it's like, 'No. Where should I really be? Where is the great bar with organic wine? Where do I get a bikini wax in Paris?’ People know that I know that.”         

            If only I had been one of those people. I spent my time in Paris drinking possibly non-organic wine and walking the Champs Elysees. We went to the Louvre and chose our own restaurant in listening distance to the bells of Notre-Dame. If only Gwyneth had told me where I should really be.

            I still can’t hate her, though. It was my fault for not having read her blog before venturing to Paris packing a razor. Maybe if I followed her advice I would like her more. However, my husband shot me down when he invested in stocks instead of a wood-burning pizza oven in our garden. “It’s one of the best investments I ever made,” Gwyneth had declared. Opportunity missed.

            Every interview or Goop post seems to have at least one of these lovely nuggets for the average person to seethe over. But whenever I would read another ‘I hate Gwyneth’ blog, I would look into what she actually said. Most of the quotes sounded a little better in context, and some I even agreed with. (Cheese in a tin doesn’t sound great to me, either.) Gwynnie, I still had your back.

            And then came the announcement two days ago that she and her husband were separating. This was her chance to finally show the chink in her gleaming armor. She now had a commonality with at least 40% of Americans. She could’ve become almost likable! But then she blew it with her conscious uncoupling statement, as if her break-up was on a higher plane than everyone else’s. She used a new-age phrase as a way to let us know that their separation was well thought out and not a personal failure. Their relationship simply had run its course. News Flash Gwyneth: That’s what we ordinary people call divorce.

            So the ‘I hate Gwyneth’ bandwagon rolls on. As I try grasping for a reason to stay off of it, her latest interview with E! News comes out regarding her status as a working mom. After noting that her rule is to do only one movie a year because of her children, she goes on to say, “I think to have a regular job and be a mom is not as -- of course there are challenges -- but it’s not like being on set.” So basically she’s saying being a mother with a regular job is not as taxing as being a movie star. Ugh.

            You’re going to force me to join the bandwagon, Gwyneth, aren’t you?

Tales of a Reluctant Shopper

Dressy enough?

     People fashion their lives around different things: their career, their spouse, their passions, etc. In hindsight, I now believe I have fashioned my life around not having to dress up. I chose to live in a college town where my regular jeans-and-sweater combination looks polished compared to the co-eds who regularly dine out in their slippers. I'm a writer, which entails rarely having to leave the house. I can stay at home most days in my sweat pants or jeans. It should be pointed out that my sweat pants are the cute, fitted kind, not the diaper-y grey kind. I'm not a slob, I just don't like uncomfortable clothes. 
     I hate stuffing my feet into sky high heels, I hate wearing sleeveless dresses in winter, and I think it goes without saying that I hate Spanx. I thought having to wear panty hose was bad until wearing no hose became the thing and I was wishing I could once again stick my powder white legs into a pair of tan L'eggs. Am I too old for tights?
    So I set up my life pretty well for the minimum amount of instances where I'm not in comfortable clothing. Invariably, however, I am lucky enough to be invited to an "occasion." When it's a formal occasion, it's almost easier. Usually I can find a dress that I like well enough and shoes that I love (but know I won't love wearing). But "business casual" is the tricky invitation. It always involves having to buy more than one thing that all go together. It's almost like redecorating your bedroom. You're just going to paint it, but then once you do, you realize you need new curtains and then a new rug and then a new lamp... Come to think of it, I'd rather redecorate my bedroom.
     Another one of these dressy occasions is coming up and I was complaining to my husband that I would have to go clothes shopping for something to wear. I didn't blame him for not believing me that I had nothing to wear. Some women say that and what they mean is, among these thirty-seven dressy things, I have nothing I want to wear again. Nope, for me I literally have nothing suitable to wear. My shopping experience today might clue you in as to why. Here it is in a nutshell:

I go to the store and pick out 14 pairs of black dress pants to try on because I am too lazy to search for anything besides black dress pants. I have a shirt at home that will match. One less thing to buy.

I try on all 14 pairs, hating each and every one, as I knew I would. Did I mention I hate dress pants?

The mound of rejected black slacks on the floor pushes me to a place in my shopping trip where I always end up: The place of 'who cares?'. (You thought I was going to say the food court, didn't you? That's for later.) 

I go get a pair of black jeans off the rack.

I try them on. They're comfortable. They look good. I won't have to iron them or dry clean them. I'm sold, but I can't find a price tag.

I quickly return to the 'who cares?' point again, partly because I have to pee. I decide to purchase the black jeans regardless of the price. 

Thankfully they were on sale down from $49 to $17 plus the cashier used her 15% off coupon for me. I feel it's my good karma for putting all the pants back on their hangars in less than six curse words.

I come home feeling satisfied (but I think that's mostly due to my binge at the food court). Then my refreshed brain realizes the pants I ultimately bought are not dressy enough for the occasion I was shopping for in the first place. 

I'm back to 'who cares?'. They are comfortable and were a good deal, so I'm wearing them.

And that is the story of why I have nothing dressy to wear. But I do have a rather nice collection of black jeans.

Valentine's Day Sucks for Everyone. Here's a Better Solution.

            Valentine’s Day. It’s a great holiday for, say, second graders who get to pass out mini Valentines to their classmates and eat pink iced heart-shaped cookies. But for us adults, it’s like having an arranged marriage every February 14^th, forced to profess our love in some public display for all to judge. Private unexpected gestures of affection become insignificant when there’s a specified day marked on the calendar obligating us to prove we’re in love.

            You may have to search the corners of the world, but there are some places that don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. I have friends who are temporarily living in Reykjavik. [To visit their blog go to http://experiencingiceland.wordpress.com/2014/01/24/if-stephen-hawking-order-a-hot-dog-in-iceland/.] Through them I have learned that Iceland is one of those places. Instead, they have two separate days: Husband Day and Wife Day.

            This is genius.

            I love this idea because, let’s face it -- people who aren’t married don’t need a special “love” day. Unattached people don’t want to be reminded that they’re not in love, and dating couples constantly like to remind us that they are. They’re not the ones who need a special day set aside to get the kids out of the house so we can have sex as loud as we want to. It’s the husbands and wives who need a special day.

            Besides that, married couples shouldn’t have to compete with the daters on Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day for daters is completely different than for married couples. Boyfriends want to impress their girlfriends and can do this easily with all the clichéd traditions. Buying an overpriced dinner at an overcrowded restaurant? Impressed. Buying a stuffed bear holding a heart? Impressed. Giving her roses and candy? Impressed. If the girlfriend is under 30 years old, then she may be sincerely impressed. (All it took for my husband on our first Valentine’s Day was an assortment of chocolates in a shiny red box. I was 23.) If she’s over 30, she’s just thrilled to have a date on Valentine’s Day and will gladly pretend to be impressed. Either way, it’s a win/win for the boyfriends out there.

            Wives, on the other hand, are not as easily impressed with such tired, traditional gestures. We’ve been through many, many more Valentine’s Days than girlfriends have. A bear and boxed candy from CVS will not cut it. A bouquet of red roses means he doesn’t know my favorite flower. Once you’re married and your money is pooled, it’s a different ball game. The minutes ticking by as we wait for a table at the crowded restaurant are clocked in dollar signs that we’re paying the sitter. Early on when I was dating my husband, he surprised me with a Valentine of a 24k gold herringbone necklace and matching bracelet. Nowadays if he gave me that for Valentine’s Day, all I’d be able to think is, I’m wearing a gold mortgage payment around my neck.

            Let’s be honest. Husbands are the ones with all the pressure on Valentine’s Day. They gotta’ get it right that one day or possibly feel the repercussions for weeks. Wives just have to show up in lingerie after the kids are in bed and we’ve done our part. But most husbands don’t want to do any of that Bachelor romance. The only reason they might is to keep up with the daters who are sending their girlfriends Valentine's flowers at work. But on Husband Day, wives can spoil their husbands without worrying about getting cheated out of their own day in the process. Chicken wings at his favorite sports bar? Impressed. Pretending you don’t want to shoot the TV when he turns on yet another episode of Pawn Stars? Impressed. And then add the lingerie.

            Wife Day sounds more appealing to me, too. Being married means we’re passed the dating stage, thank goodness. I would rather celebrate the benefits of being a wife than have to re-live what dating women go through on Valentine’s Day. Forget picking at my candlelight dinner. He can buy me a giant burrito, because guess what? I’m his wife and I don’t have to pretend I don’t eat. We can come home and I can put on fuzzy blue pajamas and he still wants to give me a back rub (among other things) because guess what? I’m his wife and it’s too damn cold in February for lingerie. Embracing me for who I really am and perhaps doing the grocery shopping for once? Happy Wife Day.

            That’s not to say romance is dead once you get married. We happily married couples have our moments. We also know that true love isn’t dictated by Hallmark. A deeper, lasting love is shown in small ways every day. My husband puts gas in my car so I don’t have to. He leaves me love notes to find when he travels on business. He cleans the shower because he knows I hate to. He’ll even sit through an episode of The Real Housewives with me. Come on, that’s true love. I would hope he can list similarly thoughtful things I do for him on a regular basis.

            So maybe we’ll eventually adopt Iceland’s tradition of Husband Day and Wife Day and get ourselves off the Valentine’s hook. In the meantime, I’m sure he’ll bring me daisies (my favorite flower) and buy me a card, because American society tells him to. And even though I tell him he doesn’t have to buy me anything, he doesn’t dare listen to me. But I hope he knows he doesn’t have to impress me once a year anymore like he so easily did that first Valentine’s Day. He impresses me every day as a husband, a father, and a provider. I am impressed by his loyalty and his constant support of my aspirations.

            Perhaps I sensed those were the promises held in that simple box of chocolates he impressed me with over twenty years ago.

So What DOES He Do?

     I was chatting with an acquaintance the other day, a fellow mother I hadn't seen in a while. When I asked what she'd been up to, she began listing her children's schedules while lamenting about having only one evening a week to eat dinner together as a family and spending entire weekends juggling their various practices and games. Then she asked about my nine-year-old son and his activities, hoping to bond over similar complaints. I couldn't oblige. I told her that he plays trumpet two mornings a week at school and he takes karate two days a week after school, purposefully leaving our evenings and weekends free.
     "He's not doing indoor soccer?"
     "No," I replied.
     "I think it's the only way to keep up if they're going to play in the spring league."
     "He doesn't play in the spring league."
     Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. He must be a baseball player," she concluded.
     "Nope, doesn't play that, either."
     This seemed to stump her momentarily. "Well, some kids just aren't into sports. Mary [not her real name] loves that Community School of the Arts. They do choir concerts and art shows... Do you know about their programs?"
     I smiled. "I've heard of them."    
     Now her brows positively furrowed in what must have been complete bafflement. Finally she asked, "So then, what does he do?"
    

He swims  

Plays in the snow

Reads  

 
Sketches pictures

Does science experiments  

making crystals

Goes to the zoo  

Takes day trips  

New York City

 And long weekend trips  

Washington DC

Burlington, VT

And longer trips 

Nantucket

Disney World

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Takes plane rides and car rides to visit family

waiting for our plane

Makes up his own comic strips  

Makes his own home movies

Lies on the grass  

Touches aquarium creatures  

Finding a clam

Hikes

Bowls  

Visits museums near...

Mystic Seaport

Hillstead Museum

And far  

Smithsonian's Air & Space Museum

Sews his own stuffed animals   

Runs just for the fun of it

Skis

Plays putt putt golf

Enjoys the local library  

Goes to the beach to catch sea creatures...  

And make sand castles

Kayaks

Creates paintings  

Takes summer evening walks with his family

Meets up with friends at the playground after school

Tries to sell his paintings 

Spends Sunday afternoons at Barnes & Noble

Spends a day at the fair

Builds things for his room  

his own tv (with Oprah on)

Sculpts with clay

Stays up late for a double feature at the Drive-In

Camps in our backyard  

making s'mores in front of tent

Fishes with his dad  

Plays board games

Visits the New York Botanical Gardens 

Catches frogs in the backyard  

Checks out the inside of a submarine

Experiences live theater and concerts

Boston Pops Christmas concert

Makes a science fair project

Goes boating

Gardens

Plays tag with the kids next door

Makes origami  

     That's what he does, or what he did in 2013 anyway. No coaches, no experts, no signing up involved.
     I didn't make this list to tell anyone else what their kids ought to be doing. I am hoping, though, that we as parents can learn to trust our children more. We don't have to schedule everything for them. They don't need formal lessons in order to learn everything.
     They will play.
     They will be creative.
     They will learn how to use their down time.
     In fact, without us scheduling all their free time, they will discover what they like to do and what they're good at. We can let them unearth their talents before we push lessons and practices on them. We can let them be creative in their own way on their own time when they feel like it.
     There's a lot of joy to be had in playing a team sport, however we seem to have lost the balance between game time and family time. A few years back, a friend of mine told me she was thinking of canceling a family trip to Yellowstone because the baseball game schedule of one of her sons conflicted with their summer plans. Ugh. Astonishingly, we tend to underestimate the role of family in our children's happiness and success in life. Why don't we ever measure our success as a family? How can you think having your six-year-old spend her evenings plucking violin strings at a Suzuki program is more beneficial than spending quality time together?
     They don't need formal lessons to enjoy arts and crafts. They don't need to perform in a concert to like singing. Formal training will come later if they decide to pursue them. Fill their memory banks with the time they learned how to cook from their dad or ice skate from their mom. Let's trust ourselves to be their teachers and their role models, instead of eclipsing our time together with programmed activities.
     Don't worry. There is still plenty of time to tap our children's potential. What we're running out of is time to enjoy each other and make memories together.





   

MY UN-INSPIRATIONAL MESSAGES FOR 2014

The New Year is just an hour away. Like many of you, I feel a sense of renewal and optimism. I’m like a racehorse at the gate, waiting for the starting gun to go off. I feel I’m ready for all the opportunities a fresh year brings. And along with it comes a surge of inspirational messages to get me started. What better time to consider your intentions and focus on your hopes and goals?

Forget the past. Just jump. Fight for what you want. Have no regrets. Take risks.

Don’t they make you ready to start the New Year? Sure they do, but by definition, inspiration is merely a starting point. Its job is to stimulate you; to stir something within you. Hence, the resolution is made…and then within weeks, dropped.

I would like to offer up something new. Granted, my approach is not as sexy as the usual motivational quotes. They probably don’t sound as fun or cool, and in the short term, they’re most likely not. But motivation only takes you so far, and then what are you left with to guide you the rest of the way? So with that in mind, here are my un-inspirational messages:

Don’t forget the past. You don’t need to live in it, but you do need to learn from it.

Have regrets. If you’ve hurt someone, you ought to regret it. It doesn’t mean you can’t forgive yourself, but without regrets, you lose your moral compass.

Don’t take risks. I believe in taking calculated risks, otherwise you’re just satiating your need to be self-indulgent, and probably not taking into consideration the people you care about. It’s more likely your risk will pay off if it’s a calculated, planned one (if that’s not too much of an oxymoron).

Don’t just jump in. If you do, you’re closing your eyes to all the signs around you that are helping to lead your way and turning your back on the decisions and people who brought you to where you are. Jumping in sounds better than running away, but it’s often the same thing.

Don’t fight for what you want. If you look at life as a fight, it’s going to feel like one. You’re only in competition with yourself to be better and do better when you know better. Be gentle with yourself and others and go for what you want in the spirit of love and connection. You’ll be amazed at the people willing to help you along the way.

Stay in your comfort zone. Or more accurately, broaden your comfort zone. Yes, try things that give you butterflies. Stretch yourself. Find your passion and focus on it. But if you’re happy in your comfort zone, you shouldn’t be made to feel bad about it. I’m not sure why our comfort zones have gotten such a bad wrap. We should not be made to feel like we’re settling because we’re at a place where we feel comfortable with ourselves. Isn’t that where everyone else is striving to be? I feel bad for those who feel such a constant unease with their lives that they have to always leave it to chase a new high. Everyone should be able to settle into his or her own comfort zone and thoroughly enjoy it.

There isn’t a rockin’ quote for making the tough choices, for sometimes making sacrifices for others, and for taking full responsibility for your life. Avoid hedonism isn’t as enticing as Go for It. But in the long run, honestly working your way towards personal fulfillment and lasting love is where the real joy lies.

Happiness is complicated. Challenges will feel daunting. Mistakes will be made. Expectations won’t be met. The unexpected happens. And that’s when I get uninspired. I remember the past and my regrets. I appreciate where I am. Then, with a solid plan and my eyes wide open, I step forward with care. My enthusiasm is no less than if I jumped, but I'm more prepared for the commitment my goals will require. I’m in it for the long haul, for 2014 and beyond. Inspiration is a good starting point, but determination and discipline will be my guides.

MANY THINGS YOU NOW KNOW ABOUT ME

     There’s this thing going around Facebook where someone gives you a number and then you list things people may not know about you. I got the number seven and without too much thought, here are the seven things I wrote:

1. I am deaf in my left ear and have tinnitus in both. So if I ignore you, I might not have heard you...or I might be ignoring you.

2. I wrote a ballet that was performed at the Bushnell Theater in Hartford, CT. I knew nothing about ballet, but what the heck.

3. I paid my own way through college.

4. I chose to go to graduate school at the University of New Hampshire solely because it was about as far away from Texas as I could get. No wonder grad school didn't work out so well.

5. When I was a young girl, I dreamed of someday using my life's savings to go to Rome to see the Coliseum. Little did I know I would end up traveling to Europe many times, and when I went to Rome and saw the Coliseum I almost cried (or I might have actually cried).

6. I've been inside the Kremlin.

7. At one time, I suffered from severe vertigo for 18 months straight and could barely leave the house. Dr. Steven Rauch saved my life.

Top of Form

     Do any of you who know me really think I could stop at seven? Call it being loquacious. Call it being self-indulgent. Call it what you want, but it got me to thinking about all the indiscriminate things in my life that contribute to who I am. Not the big stuff that we often re-visit, but the inconsequential entities. I enjoyed going over in my mind all these random things about myself. If you are reading this and don’t know me at all, I would be curious to hear what kind of composite you come up with based on this arbitrary list. So here we go: Things you may not know about me:

I grew up with a St. Bernard named Bruno. When he got old, I believed my mother when she said he went away to live on a big farm.

While strolling down a sidewalk on Martha’s Vineyard, Brooke Shields walked up next to me and I instantaneously looked like a troll.

I always choose Raisinets for the Drive-in movies, even though it’s not my favorite candy.

I wrote one of the stories in the book Chicken Soup for the Kids’ Soul. The book is one of my son’s favorites.

I met Tomie dePaola at an authors’ dinner once and he was kind of a dick. My son never liked his books.

Jaws is my favorite movie of all time. It was released on my 9th birthday.

One of my top three favorite concerts was Willie Nelson, even though I’ve never cared for his music.

I rushed the stage during the encore of a James Taylor concert and he touched my hand and now we’re likethis. (Ok, the last part of that isn't true.)

I had to give up alcohol and caffeine. I miss caffeine more.

I never wear lipstick.

I am only two degrees of separation from Oprah. So close and yet so far.

In high school I weighed 109 pounds. And I thought I was fat.

First impressions go a long way with me. If I don’t like you after the first time we meet, it takes me a long time to change my mind.

I agreed to go surfing with a guy just to impress him. I’ve never surfed since. I didn’t have to, because I impressed him... and married him.

An MRI showed that I have a significant section of frontal lobe missing from my brain. Doctors can’t explain it, but my husband says it explains a lot!

People may already know that I brag about my husband and son on a regular basis. What they may not know is it’s because I think everyone should have someone who is sincerely their biggest fan.

I do my best writing late at night but mom duty rarely allows me to stay up to take advantage of it.

I’d much rather go shopping for kitchen things to cook with than for clothes to wear, even though I don’t like to cook.

I probably say a variation of the word Fuck at least once a day.

Only my husband knows my greatest fear. 

And since I love to travel, here is my “Most” list of some of the places I’ve visited:

Most beautiful architecture: Paris, France  

Most fascinating: Moscow, Russia

Most fun: London, England

Most delicious: Florence, Italy

Most like paradise: Maui, Hawaii

Most relaxing: Nantucket, MA

Most perfect sunsets: Long Beach Island, NJ

Most festive at Christmas: New York City, NY

Most gorgeous vistas: Hailey, Idaho

Most jubilant: Disney World, FL

Most want to visit next: Greece 

 
So now do you think you know me?

Even Scrooge and The Grinch Stopped Complaining

            Ah, it’s November and you know what that means! The complaints are already beginning to trickle in. Everyone seems to love the holidays but hate everything about them. They hate the shopping, the Christmas tunes while shopping, the traveling, the decorating, feeling forced to say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”… The list is as long as Santa’s. ‘Tis the season for cheer and goodwill…but only from a distance, please.

            There are some years when the Christmas spirit hits me right between the eyes. I spend weekends baking batches of homemade fudge for the neighbors, I ransack Michael’s for new decorations, and I happily volunteer at my son’s school holiday events. Other years the Christmas spirit knocks me upside the head. Those years I daydream of using my Christmas ribbon to strangle the ultra-organized PTA members who scheduled those extra school events. Instead, I volunteer less, buy a Costco bag of chocolates for my neighbors, and only bring up one container of decorations from the basement. So sometimes people get my Suzie Homemaker Christmas and sometimes they get my half-assed version. But at least that half is happy and not too stressed to appreciate the holidays. And I’m not complaining.

            The reason I can exempt myself from the list of holiday haters is because I finally let go of everyone’s expectations for the perfect holiday, most importantly my own. Through trial and error and some self-reflection (and possibly old age), I’ve learned a couple of things.    

            One, traditions can be stifling. I used to be overly concerned about developing traditions for my family until I realized the only tradition I was keeping was the one of putting too much pressure on myself. I was trying to create Norman Rockwell experiences instead of figuring out what we really enjoyed doing and what we really didn't. Traditions are more meaningful when they happen naturally over time, not when you feel obligated to do exactly what your parents did or what your family expects of you or even what you’ve done the year before. Life is fluid, so why shouldn’t holidays be?

            Do what you feel like doing this year and scrap the other stuff. I think I speak for everybody when I say I don’t want a gift from you if it drains you to buy it - financially, physically, or emotionally. If we care enough about each other to want to exchange gifts then we should care enough to want each other to be happy and unburdened, especially around the holidays. Do something fun together instead. Take each other out for a decadent dessert or go ice-skating or sledding. Pack all your nieces and nephews in the car after dark and find one of those giant light displays to drive through. Forget the extensive gift list and spend your weekends doing festive activities instead of trudging through crowded malls. (Unless, like me, you love the malls at Christmas time, then shop ‘till you drop!) If you enjoy baking, take the extra time to do it. If you find it a hassle, go to a bakery or candy shop and buy some goodies. I’d rather fall short at being the Queen of Christmas than subject others to Ms. Crabby Christmas.

            Maybe it’s easier for me because I don’t have the guilt or martyr complex that some other people may suffer from. So making those kinds of compromises has been easier to reconcile than another realization I finally came to. I think everyone can agree, holidays are supposed to be about family. Lots of family. In all the Christmas movies, in all the Thanksgiving snapshots, even in my own childhood memories, there was lots of family. So even after I grew up and left our nuclear family of eight, plus a host of local cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, I couldn’t help but feel my new family of three wouldn’t cut it for the holidays. How can it really feel like Thanksgiving or Christmas with just the three of us?

            I came to the slow realization that as a carefree child, I adored that happy chaos. As an adult, I really like the simplicity and tranquility that my cozy little family offers. When we finally ventured to have a Thanksgiving and Christmas by ourselves, we found that the holiday was just as special with just the three of us as it was with a multitude of beloved family members.

            So now our only holiday tradition is the one where we allow ourselves to do whatever we want each year. Taking stock of our present mood and circumstances is our gift to each other and to ourselves. In past years, we’ve traveled to spend wonderful Thanksgivings at my in-laws and my cousin’s homes, as well as hosting friends in our own home. There were other times when we’ve preferred a more subdued, easy peasy Thanksgiving at our favorite restaurant. Last year we spent a terrifically boisterous Thanksgiving in Florida with my husband’s family. This year, we feel like nesting at home and getting to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade all the way to the end. We do miss whichever family members we’re not with, but it's also fun to spend part of the day reminiscing about past feasts.

            Christmas, on the other hand, has become our treasured alone time. The only expectation is that Santa will arrive at midnight. With all the hubbub leading up to it, we prefer to safeguard a leisurely Christmas day. One where my son can stay in his pajamas all day and play with his newly unwrapped toys; where my husband can eat as much crumb cake as he likes because Christmas dinner is whatever time we want it to be; where we can play in the snow if there is any, then lounge by the fire the rest of the day and watch a marathon of Christmas movies. Our lazy Christmas has evolved naturally to become tradition. Who knew?

            I’m not saying the way we spend our holidays is the way everyone should do it. In fact, I’m saying just the opposite. Celebrate the season in the way that will make YOU happy. Discover what you really enjoy about this time of year and spend the most time doing that. Treat yourself to at least one really fun outing in December to infuse some Christmas spirit. And if you find yourself complaining, try skipping whatever it is you’re complaining about. Just this year, just to see if the world ends if you don’t make four pies from scratch or mail 75 Christmas cards or show up at your Aunt Ida’s. I bet my neighbors don’t even remember what I gave them for the holidays last year, but I remember, because I enjoyed making all their treats. That enjoyment - or conversely annoyance had that been the case - is a part of my holiday memories, not theirs. This Thanksgiving and Christmas, let’s give ourselves a holiday from our own Quixotic expectations and learn to really appreciate what the season offers. Radiating joy in the season meant for it is the best gift we can give each other.