Post by barb43 on Dec 23, 2023 21:11:11 GMT
This is a complementary article I received on my desktop from VOGUE, a magazine who is seeking out online subscribers. This is not the whole article, it's 'merely' the parts that made me laugh ... which, admittedly, is most of the article.
If you're a 'mom', or grandmother, you can probably relate to the expectation of being "elf-rything to elf-ryone." I certainly can!
_________________
My Selfish Christmas Tradition—And How You Can Do It, Too
By Megan Angelo
December 22, 2023
It’s here: the anxiety apex ahead of the holidays. Who decided to make yesterday the shortest day of the year, when our lists are still so long? Who bobbled their departmental duties, back when the Gregorian calendar was drawn up, and gave us a full week of school this year before the winter break started? And what dark forces drive the sadists who looked at said full week, and whispered: “And unto each of them, a dress-up theme. On Wednesday, you must dress ‘like your tree.’”
Full disclosure: For every yuletide pressure the world imposes, I put two on myself. Over here, I have 200 handmade gingerbread men and zero pairs of clean underwear. I am in a haze of missed sleep and missed shipping deadlines, flopping over the finish line of work, panicking over whether I’ve been present and whether I wrapped all the presents. My mouth is saying sure to running the craft station at the preschool party and picking up candy canes for the second grade’s hot cocoa bar, but my eyes are saying help me, can I have a piece of lettuce? I haven’t seen lettuce in weeks. I have only eaten cookies—the burnt ones, because those are the only ones I deserve—and when I eat one my pajamas get tight and I lie awake all night thinking of death.
But my time is coming. Long after the final (way off) notes of the final school concert have faded; after every grandmother’s appetite for photos has been sated; when everything has been eaten and opened; I will do My One Thing for Me. And it’s not too late for you to adopt this tradition, too. It is last-minute friendly, cheap, and packable. Here goes: On Christmas night, I sit on the couch by the tree, with a snack and a cocktail, and read an entire novel. This is my selfish Christmas tradition, and I highly recommend it.
The tradition was born during COVID. While almost nothing was easier then, Christmas was. I would never return to the era of relatives mingling in the yard or communing on Zoom (“What?” “No, you go”), but facts are facts: In 2020, we had run through everything “Christmas” we could do by about 1 p.m. We had no one to see and nowhere to be, so I made a bourbon amaretto and poured some Half-Baked Harvest Mom’s Secret Christmas Eve Chex mix into a teacup, picked up Susie Yang’s White Ivy, and didn’t move for seven hours, except to get refills. I put my phone away, and when my children invariably stopped by, asking if I wanted to see how two pieces of plastic snapped together, I smiled and said maybe later. I didn’t leave the world of the book, or the glow of the lights, til the story was finished.
This is not an entirely original idea. Lots of people watch movies on Christmas; in Iceland, they all swap books on Christmas Eve. For me, it’s not just about the reading; it’s about creating something I can return to year after year that’s for myself, that I can do no matter where I am or how old my children are or where they are (only eight Christmases left in my oldest’s childhood, my brain reminded me after I ate one peanut butter blossom at 9 p.m. the other night). It’s about knowing that, even if I wear myself out attempting to be elf-rything to elf-ryone, I have something restorative booked. I won’t turn around on the 26th and think, Wait—did I even really enjoy any of that?
But it’s also a lot about the reading. If you want to hop on the Christmas-night book train, you need to have just the right kind of single-sitting book. You want something smooth and sleek, a voice that grabs you, a plot you can drop right into, equal parts intrigue and familiarity. Nothing too long, because if you don’t finish that night, the last thing you’d want is to be separated from your happy read over the next several days and for it to start to feel like something on the post-Christmas comedown to-do list, like dragging the tree out or slyly purging any creepy dolls from your kids’ piles. Bonus points for funny writing, which can be a balm after tense family moments, and also—can I be shallow? The book should be cute. A pretty cover. Small. Light. You want to hold it open with one hand, because of the Chex mix. And you really want to keep a steady drip of the Chex mix on at all times. The insomnia works for you, because you’re reading, and as for the Violet Beauregarde bloat, that sounds like a tomorrow problem to me. If it’s not in the book, it’s not real.
Actually, just typing that word—“real”—brought up for me what this might truly all be about. So much of the holidays, when you’re a kid, is wrapped up in believing some kind of story. Reading on Christmas—fully escaping—recreates that feeling. If you’d like to join me, I took making the below list of ideal Christmas-night picks extremely seriously. Actually, just typing that word—“real”—brought up for me what this might truly all be about. So much of the holidays, when you’re a kid, is wrapped up in believing some kind of story. Reading on Christmas—fully escaping—recreates that feeling. If you’d like to join me, I took making the below list of ideal Christmas-night picks extremely seriously. . . . .
Pick one up, grab your accoutrement of choice, find a quiet spot wherever you’re staying, and make your face the face equivalent of that sign at the mall: Santa’s on a break!
_________________________________
She provides a list of books that she's recommending, but you can surely find your own.
Happy reading! No guarantee the link to this article will work, but the above is about 85% of the article. The rest was the list of books with their associated cover art.
www.vogue.com/article/my-selfish-christmas-night-tradition?utm_source=pocket-newtab-en-us
If you're a 'mom', or grandmother, you can probably relate to the expectation of being "elf-rything to elf-ryone." I certainly can!
_________________
My Selfish Christmas Tradition—And How You Can Do It, Too
By Megan Angelo
December 22, 2023
It’s here: the anxiety apex ahead of the holidays. Who decided to make yesterday the shortest day of the year, when our lists are still so long? Who bobbled their departmental duties, back when the Gregorian calendar was drawn up, and gave us a full week of school this year before the winter break started? And what dark forces drive the sadists who looked at said full week, and whispered: “And unto each of them, a dress-up theme. On Wednesday, you must dress ‘like your tree.’”
Full disclosure: For every yuletide pressure the world imposes, I put two on myself. Over here, I have 200 handmade gingerbread men and zero pairs of clean underwear. I am in a haze of missed sleep and missed shipping deadlines, flopping over the finish line of work, panicking over whether I’ve been present and whether I wrapped all the presents. My mouth is saying sure to running the craft station at the preschool party and picking up candy canes for the second grade’s hot cocoa bar, but my eyes are saying help me, can I have a piece of lettuce? I haven’t seen lettuce in weeks. I have only eaten cookies—the burnt ones, because those are the only ones I deserve—and when I eat one my pajamas get tight and I lie awake all night thinking of death.
But my time is coming. Long after the final (way off) notes of the final school concert have faded; after every grandmother’s appetite for photos has been sated; when everything has been eaten and opened; I will do My One Thing for Me. And it’s not too late for you to adopt this tradition, too. It is last-minute friendly, cheap, and packable. Here goes: On Christmas night, I sit on the couch by the tree, with a snack and a cocktail, and read an entire novel. This is my selfish Christmas tradition, and I highly recommend it.
The tradition was born during COVID. While almost nothing was easier then, Christmas was. I would never return to the era of relatives mingling in the yard or communing on Zoom (“What?” “No, you go”), but facts are facts: In 2020, we had run through everything “Christmas” we could do by about 1 p.m. We had no one to see and nowhere to be, so I made a bourbon amaretto and poured some Half-Baked Harvest Mom’s Secret Christmas Eve Chex mix into a teacup, picked up Susie Yang’s White Ivy, and didn’t move for seven hours, except to get refills. I put my phone away, and when my children invariably stopped by, asking if I wanted to see how two pieces of plastic snapped together, I smiled and said maybe later. I didn’t leave the world of the book, or the glow of the lights, til the story was finished.
This is not an entirely original idea. Lots of people watch movies on Christmas; in Iceland, they all swap books on Christmas Eve. For me, it’s not just about the reading; it’s about creating something I can return to year after year that’s for myself, that I can do no matter where I am or how old my children are or where they are (only eight Christmases left in my oldest’s childhood, my brain reminded me after I ate one peanut butter blossom at 9 p.m. the other night). It’s about knowing that, even if I wear myself out attempting to be elf-rything to elf-ryone, I have something restorative booked. I won’t turn around on the 26th and think, Wait—did I even really enjoy any of that?
But it’s also a lot about the reading. If you want to hop on the Christmas-night book train, you need to have just the right kind of single-sitting book. You want something smooth and sleek, a voice that grabs you, a plot you can drop right into, equal parts intrigue and familiarity. Nothing too long, because if you don’t finish that night, the last thing you’d want is to be separated from your happy read over the next several days and for it to start to feel like something on the post-Christmas comedown to-do list, like dragging the tree out or slyly purging any creepy dolls from your kids’ piles. Bonus points for funny writing, which can be a balm after tense family moments, and also—can I be shallow? The book should be cute. A pretty cover. Small. Light. You want to hold it open with one hand, because of the Chex mix. And you really want to keep a steady drip of the Chex mix on at all times. The insomnia works for you, because you’re reading, and as for the Violet Beauregarde bloat, that sounds like a tomorrow problem to me. If it’s not in the book, it’s not real.
Actually, just typing that word—“real”—brought up for me what this might truly all be about. So much of the holidays, when you’re a kid, is wrapped up in believing some kind of story. Reading on Christmas—fully escaping—recreates that feeling. If you’d like to join me, I took making the below list of ideal Christmas-night picks extremely seriously. Actually, just typing that word—“real”—brought up for me what this might truly all be about. So much of the holidays, when you’re a kid, is wrapped up in believing some kind of story. Reading on Christmas—fully escaping—recreates that feeling. If you’d like to join me, I took making the below list of ideal Christmas-night picks extremely seriously. . . . .
Pick one up, grab your accoutrement of choice, find a quiet spot wherever you’re staying, and make your face the face equivalent of that sign at the mall: Santa’s on a break!
_________________________________
She provides a list of books that she's recommending, but you can surely find your own.
Happy reading! No guarantee the link to this article will work, but the above is about 85% of the article. The rest was the list of books with their associated cover art.www.vogue.com/article/my-selfish-christmas-night-tradition?utm_source=pocket-newtab-en-us