Holiday Hostessing
Sarah says I have to post this by 4pm, which gives me 65 minutes. This means I cannot procrastinate like I did with the last post I wrote, going back and forth between Facebook and my work email. I'm going to use that deadline as it was intended—an excuse to not worry about the sloppiness of my writing and just write.
WRITING. HERE WE GO.
We decided to write about Christmas gifting. Sometimes when we don't have topics we just start talking and come up with something, and I start pulling details out of the air that I totally could write about. It helps to have a writing partner.
Three years ago or so Michael's family came to Indianapolis for Christmas for the first time. I was immediately awash in anxiety about hosting. Christmas at the cabin in New York is a different experience—great in many ways, but a little calmer than my family's chaos. I wanted them to feel at home, to make it as similar as I could to their own Christmas traditions.
So the next thing I know I find myself buying Christmas-green cloth napkins and silver napkin rings from Crate & Barrel—Michael's mom always uses cloth napkins. I buy Christmas tree candlesticks for the center of the table—every Christmas Eve Michael's mom pulls out the same festive candle holders they've used since Michael and his sister, Sarah, were kids. Michael searches all over to try to find fresh herring, one of the crucial components of a Polish Christmas but which we cannot find anywhere in Indianapolis. He ends up getting a canned version. We get a big can of Crisco so Michael's dad and Sarah can make chrusciki, a Polish fried pastry covered in powdered sugar. I buy extra stockings for Michael's parents, Sarah, and even two tiny stockings for Maggie Mae and Lillye Jo, their cocker spaniels. And then I buy a buttload of candy and various stocking stuffers to go in them, panicked because I don't know what kind of candy they like and worried they'll think what I've gotten is stupid. I'm talking a serious buttload of candy. Like 4 entire full size bags of Hershey kisses, peppermint chocolate, Twix bars, Ghirardelli squares. It was way too much, but better too much than too little, right?
Why all the hubbub? In Michael's eyes most of this is probably not necessary, but he doesn't say anything. This is female business, this preparing and anxiety, this intense need for everyone to leave this Christmas "experience" with positive, happy feelings. And it's specifically heightened because it's a female outside of the main family unit, who still feels like she has to prove her worth and make everyone like her. Somehow she thinks that can be done with stocking stuffers.
I get some of this tendency from my mother. My mother treats holidays the same way—any get-together, really. You must have an overabundance of food so everyone can find something they like and no one goes hungry. You must apologize if chips are served in a bag and not a nice serving dish, if you're making people eat on paper plates, even if no one gives a crap and none of your guests ever eat chips out of a serving dish. Mom cares immensely that the house is cleaned just so, that she has the perfect presents for everyone—not something you put on a list! Something she picked out especially for you that will bring you joy and let you know how much she loves you. And you won't just get one present. There will be a pile.
My mother got this tendency from my grandmother, who also gave us piles of presents for which she planned all year round: milkshake machines, handmade stained glass lamps (made by Grandma, of course), family birthday calendars made from 100 year old barn wood (again, made by Grandma), whole outfits in boxes, with necklaces and socks included. As you sat in my grandparents' living room on Christmas Day, you'd find a mountain of presents developing in front of you, delivered one-by-one by whoever was the youngest (but mobile) grandchild at the time. Eventually it got to the point that my uncle decided our family was "too materialistic" and stopped getting everyone presents at all. That made no difference to Grandma. This is how the women in my family show love—buying presents, making food, and showering everyone in Christmas.
So for my first time hosting Christmas, I showered everyone in Christmas—and depressed myself at the same time.
Michael's family arrived at the door after a long drive from upstate New York. The house was as clean as we could make it, though to my ever-lasting frustration there is no way I can get all the dog hair out of our living room couch. Lights are up, the tree is decorated, a Christmas-scented candle lit. It's so Christmas.
I'll spare you the anticipation. Things didn't go perfectly. You wouldn't expect them to, would you? Michael's mom arrived with her own stockings, which meant everyone had two. Normally I'd be like THE MORE PRESENTS THE BETTER, but in this case I felt silly. I went overboard. When they opened their stockings, all three of them kept laughing at the amount of stuff I put in them.
"It's still going!"
"This is SO MUCH CHOCOLATE!"
When we opened our presents, Sarah looked at the power adapter I got Michael, some kickstarter gadget I'd found that's supposed to save power by turning off once it's charged your phone.
"You have to wonder at what point something like that is actually useful," she said. I stared at her. "I mean, actually saves any money."
"It's supposed to be good for the environment," I said weakly, taken back.
Michael put it aside and we moved on.
Michael's mom made the traditional Polish Christmas Eve dinner in my kitchen, complaining about being in an unfamiliar kitchen and how much she doesn't like using other people's things. When we sat down to eat the first time, she looked at the white snowman placemats my grandma got me.
"These placemats are just going to get stained."
We cleaned up afterwards, putting the cloth napkins back in the silver napkin rings.
"I can't figure out whose napkin is whose—the rings are all the same."
The worst was when we all went to my mom's for Christmas. For some reason my mom decided we should all go around in a circle and open presents one at a time. Because she bought so many presents, it ended up taking HOURS, all while Michael's family sat there watching us. My mom got me a cheap violin, a frivolous but fun gift that I had joked about wanting. It was the exact kind of thing she would have done, and normally I would have loved it. Instead I felt self-conscious. Of course I didn't need a violin. It was silly and unnecessary, and I felt like it made my family look silly, just like I'd made myself look silly with my impractical Christmas decorations and excessive chocolate buying.
Later Michael's mom and Sarah both remarked on the presents at my mom's house:
"Your mom buys people so many presents!"
"You guys must think I'm a scrooge because I don't buy you enough!"
I just wanted so badly to make a good impression, to make everyone glad they came all this way for Christmas. And I ended up feeling silly, feeling like I failed, feeling like I was stupid and did things wrong. But what do you expect when you make such a big deal out of things? There's no way for things to go perfectly. It just doesn't happen.
Six months later when Michael and I went to the cabin for a summer visit, I looked in a candy dish (I'm always stealing their candy), and there was a pile of candy from the stockings. Feeling foolish is a gift that lasts forever!
So this year for awhile we thought Michael's family might come to Indiana again for Christmas, but they eventually backed out.
"They don't seem to interested," Michael said. I don't blame them. And while part of me is disappointed, part of me is relieved I don't have to play Christmas hostess again. Because I don't really know how to do it without going nuts.
WRITING. HERE WE GO.
We decided to write about Christmas gifting. Sometimes when we don't have topics we just start talking and come up with something, and I start pulling details out of the air that I totally could write about. It helps to have a writing partner.
Three years ago or so Michael's family came to Indianapolis for Christmas for the first time. I was immediately awash in anxiety about hosting. Christmas at the cabin in New York is a different experience—great in many ways, but a little calmer than my family's chaos. I wanted them to feel at home, to make it as similar as I could to their own Christmas traditions.
So the next thing I know I find myself buying Christmas-green cloth napkins and silver napkin rings from Crate & Barrel—Michael's mom always uses cloth napkins. I buy Christmas tree candlesticks for the center of the table—every Christmas Eve Michael's mom pulls out the same festive candle holders they've used since Michael and his sister, Sarah, were kids. Michael searches all over to try to find fresh herring, one of the crucial components of a Polish Christmas but which we cannot find anywhere in Indianapolis. He ends up getting a canned version. We get a big can of Crisco so Michael's dad and Sarah can make chrusciki, a Polish fried pastry covered in powdered sugar. I buy extra stockings for Michael's parents, Sarah, and even two tiny stockings for Maggie Mae and Lillye Jo, their cocker spaniels. And then I buy a buttload of candy and various stocking stuffers to go in them, panicked because I don't know what kind of candy they like and worried they'll think what I've gotten is stupid. I'm talking a serious buttload of candy. Like 4 entire full size bags of Hershey kisses, peppermint chocolate, Twix bars, Ghirardelli squares. It was way too much, but better too much than too little, right?
Why all the hubbub? In Michael's eyes most of this is probably not necessary, but he doesn't say anything. This is female business, this preparing and anxiety, this intense need for everyone to leave this Christmas "experience" with positive, happy feelings. And it's specifically heightened because it's a female outside of the main family unit, who still feels like she has to prove her worth and make everyone like her. Somehow she thinks that can be done with stocking stuffers.
I get some of this tendency from my mother. My mother treats holidays the same way—any get-together, really. You must have an overabundance of food so everyone can find something they like and no one goes hungry. You must apologize if chips are served in a bag and not a nice serving dish, if you're making people eat on paper plates, even if no one gives a crap and none of your guests ever eat chips out of a serving dish. Mom cares immensely that the house is cleaned just so, that she has the perfect presents for everyone—not something you put on a list! Something she picked out especially for you that will bring you joy and let you know how much she loves you. And you won't just get one present. There will be a pile.
My mother got this tendency from my grandmother, who also gave us piles of presents for which she planned all year round: milkshake machines, handmade stained glass lamps (made by Grandma, of course), family birthday calendars made from 100 year old barn wood (again, made by Grandma), whole outfits in boxes, with necklaces and socks included. As you sat in my grandparents' living room on Christmas Day, you'd find a mountain of presents developing in front of you, delivered one-by-one by whoever was the youngest (but mobile) grandchild at the time. Eventually it got to the point that my uncle decided our family was "too materialistic" and stopped getting everyone presents at all. That made no difference to Grandma. This is how the women in my family show love—buying presents, making food, and showering everyone in Christmas.
So for my first time hosting Christmas, I showered everyone in Christmas—and depressed myself at the same time.
Michael's family arrived at the door after a long drive from upstate New York. The house was as clean as we could make it, though to my ever-lasting frustration there is no way I can get all the dog hair out of our living room couch. Lights are up, the tree is decorated, a Christmas-scented candle lit. It's so Christmas.
I'll spare you the anticipation. Things didn't go perfectly. You wouldn't expect them to, would you? Michael's mom arrived with her own stockings, which meant everyone had two. Normally I'd be like THE MORE PRESENTS THE BETTER, but in this case I felt silly. I went overboard. When they opened their stockings, all three of them kept laughing at the amount of stuff I put in them.
"It's still going!"
"This is SO MUCH CHOCOLATE!"
When we opened our presents, Sarah looked at the power adapter I got Michael, some kickstarter gadget I'd found that's supposed to save power by turning off once it's charged your phone.
"You have to wonder at what point something like that is actually useful," she said. I stared at her. "I mean, actually saves any money."
"It's supposed to be good for the environment," I said weakly, taken back.
Michael put it aside and we moved on.
Michael's mom made the traditional Polish Christmas Eve dinner in my kitchen, complaining about being in an unfamiliar kitchen and how much she doesn't like using other people's things. When we sat down to eat the first time, she looked at the white snowman placemats my grandma got me.
"These placemats are just going to get stained."
We cleaned up afterwards, putting the cloth napkins back in the silver napkin rings.
"I can't figure out whose napkin is whose—the rings are all the same."
The worst was when we all went to my mom's for Christmas. For some reason my mom decided we should all go around in a circle and open presents one at a time. Because she bought so many presents, it ended up taking HOURS, all while Michael's family sat there watching us. My mom got me a cheap violin, a frivolous but fun gift that I had joked about wanting. It was the exact kind of thing she would have done, and normally I would have loved it. Instead I felt self-conscious. Of course I didn't need a violin. It was silly and unnecessary, and I felt like it made my family look silly, just like I'd made myself look silly with my impractical Christmas decorations and excessive chocolate buying.
Later Michael's mom and Sarah both remarked on the presents at my mom's house:
"Your mom buys people so many presents!"
"You guys must think I'm a scrooge because I don't buy you enough!"
I just wanted so badly to make a good impression, to make everyone glad they came all this way for Christmas. And I ended up feeling silly, feeling like I failed, feeling like I was stupid and did things wrong. But what do you expect when you make such a big deal out of things? There's no way for things to go perfectly. It just doesn't happen.
Six months later when Michael and I went to the cabin for a summer visit, I looked in a candy dish (I'm always stealing their candy), and there was a pile of candy from the stockings. Feeling foolish is a gift that lasts forever!
So this year for awhile we thought Michael's family might come to Indiana again for Christmas, but they eventually backed out.
"They don't seem to interested," Michael said. I don't blame them. And while part of me is disappointed, part of me is relieved I don't have to play Christmas hostess again. Because I don't really know how to do it without going nuts.