So here it is, the day after Christmas.  The day that I realized the entire month of December has been a blur.  The day that I feel mixed emotions of sadness and gladness that it’s over.  Sadness because I was just too busy to enjoy what really mattered but glad because I am exhausted.  Exhausted to the point where the only dinner I have energy to prepare is leftover cookies with a side of gravy.  I added the gravy so my children won’t have the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I’m thoughtful like that. The day I try to get what used to be a Christmas tree out of the house with at least one brown needle still attached to the trunk.

I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure this is not what Christmas is supposed to be like.  Last night my family watched It’s A Wonderful Life, as we do every year,  and every year I cry happy tears at the end.  Tears because it reminds you that friendship and family are the true meaning of the season.  Not excess.  Excess eating, spending, drinking, giving, wanting, doing, etc., which is what Christmas has become for most.  I am very fortunate that I am able to live a life of excess (thank you Visa), but how I envy the days of simplicity.  I bet Mary Bailey didn’t have to wrap herself in a bed sheet the day after Christmas because she ate so much over the last few weeks that she couldn’t squeeze herself into her clothes.  I’m pretty sure that my own personal consumption of butter increased Land o Lakes’ stock by 14%. That’s only butter, let’s not forget everything else.

What happened to the days where people were happy to receive one gift on Christmas?  Now we spend way beyond our means so that it takes hours to unwrap all that is under our tree. So much so that I have found myself the day after Christmas at the blood bank hoping to donate enough blood to help pay off my credit card debt while wrapped in a sheet.  I just keep telling people that I am preparing for my role as Caesar in a play.  Et tu, Brute?  I would normally just try to pick up a few extra pole dancing shifts but they can’t turn the music up loud enough to drown out the sound of my thighs on that pole.  It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard.  People just won’t pay for that.  Maybe next year I will find a way to simplify or at least cut down on the thigh noise.