I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas

If you look you will see
that this world is beautiful,
accident, turbulent, succulent,
opulent, permanent, no way;
I wanna taste it,
Don't wanna waste it away . . .

Avril Lavigne, "Anything But Ordinary"

I think that one of the words that comes to my mind to describe the Christmas season at home is "crowded." Siblings gather at the family home, so the bathrooms, the bedrooms, and the table is crowded, and at the end of meals the countertop is crowded with dishes. The walls, the banister, and every available flat surface is crowded with decorations, beloved things we pull out every year. The Christmas tree is crowded with an eclectic assortment of ornaments, from angels made of dried pasta, to school pictures in laminated construction paper, to ornate metal and glass ornaments commemorating trips to Mount Vernon or Baby's First Christmas. The kitchen is full of marshmallows, chocolate chips, and all kinds of Christmas goodies in various stages of production. And soon, we hope, we'll wake up one morning to find the space under the tree crowded with presents.

I grew up in this large family, so by and large I'm used to crowded. Mostly, I love it. I love all the pomp and the music and the decorations, and I love my family. However, as I've gotten older I've discovered what Hollywood has already milked non-stop for their holiday releases: a little contention in a crowded house breeds a lot of discontent. I notice it because I'm used to being on my own much of the year; I'm used to things going my own way and catering only to myself. It's hard to adjust to the expanded mindset of a family household again.

But, you know, it's not THAT hard. Isn't this the season, after all, for being a little more generous, a little more forgiving? For making a little room in the inn, say?

This is what I remind myself when my four-year-old sister crawls on top of me and shoves an inane, too-bright-colored kids book over my laptop. Sigh.