Guess what I did last week? No, I mean it… guess. Yeah, how did you know? I decorated my house for Christmas. So what? (you might be thinking), so did the rest of America. Yes, but you don’t understand. You see, this year I WANTED to decorate. Couldn’t wait. Looked forward to it all day. I felt EXCITED to haul those 34 tubs of glittery plunder into the house and empty them with abandon.
Let me back up a bit. You need to understand how momentous this is for me. OK, technically, I decorate my rambling farm house every year for Christmas. I get a little nuts, truth be told. I put up two Christmas trees, one for each floor, and several small trees as well. I have a tiny feather tree (an old Victorian throw-back) that I just love. Then there are the vintage linens, anything that glitters, and electric candles in every window of my house, 47 in all. I love Christmas. I love Christmas decorations, and I am madly in love with strings of tiny white bulbs.
But the last two years, well…. my Christmas Spirit took a bit of a hiatus.
Here’s the deal with going back to college in the middle of your life. You have to find a way to squeeze school into the busyness of the rest of your life. Remember when you were in college? (I’m talking to you normal people that pursued degrees in their late teens and early twenties). We thought we were SO stressed and busy and overworked. I mean, we actually had to curtail our social lives so that we could write those stupid papers and study for tests. It was so bloomin’ demanding! Yes, I certainly am making fun of that stage of life. I can because that used to be me whining and feeling persecuted.
If I could have gazed into the future and witnessed myself as an adult learner, I would have shut my fat mouth and counted my blessings. Schooling in my 40’s was way (way) harder. It is true that my children were independent, but having older children just means you become a full-time taxi driver. It got better when my older children could drive and help shuttle younger siblings around, but when all the licensed drivers leave home, you have to slap the meter back on the dash and get reacquainted with the road.
So in the fall of ’09 when I started my education coursework, I was also a full-time paraprofessional in our local public school. I wanted to keep my foot in the door, in case a teaching job opened up, so I kept my job while going to school full-time. The school was so incredibly gracious about my schedule and gave me as much leeway as I needed to make it all work (God bless superintendent Webster!), but I am here to tell you that I have NEVER, ever (ever!) been so busy in all my life. It was zany wackiness from Day One.
Here’s a sample day from that era:
Travel 30 miles in order to be on time for my 8 am class.
Class over at 8:50 – get in the car and travel the 45 miles to my job.
Work half a day, get back in the car and travel back to the campus for a mid-afternoon class.
Hang around in town because I also had night classes. I usually went to the public library and tried to knock out some heavy studying. This would generally require massive amounts of strong coffee.
Go to class from 6-9 pm (more strong coffee consumed).
Travel 30 miles back home (shivering on some of those -30 degree nights).
Fall into bed and sleep for a few precious hours before getting up and doing it again the next day.
It was nuts. And I loved it (mostly).
In the middle of all that blur of school and work, I was still a mom and a wife. Not a very good one, mind you. But I think everyone understood that this was MY time. I had waited so long. They would indulge me some of my trespasses.
So when Christmas rolled around that first year, I was not even close to being in the mood to do anything remotely holiday-related. But I did, because that’s what mom’s do. We do even when we don’t feel like doing. I did decorate, I did bake, I did shop. I did not send out a Christmas letter. That would have to slide.
The next Christmas (2010), was even worse. I was wrapping up student teaching, PLUS a graduate level, 3 credit course, PLUS two independent studies courses, PLUS an undergraduate course that my advisor had forgotten I needed. She called two weeks into my student teaching and lobbed the grenade into my camp. She was so very sorry to add to my stress, but you see, My Dear, you absolutely MUST have this class in order to graduate. We will make a few allowances. I’m so very sorry.
I hung up the phone that day and cried; big crocodile tears that wouldn’t stop. I was so TIRED. Tired and stressed. That was a very bad day.
The entire semester was intense and exhausting, so when my traditional Christmas decorating day rolled around (the Friday after Thanksgiving), I could not have cared less about decorating. My oldest son, Trevor, was a bit alarmed. He just stared at me. “Mom, you have to at least put up a tree!” I crossed my arms and harrumphed. Why? He was edging nearer to the phone to place a discreet call to the nice people with the white jacket and sleeves that fasten in the back. His mother had lost it. He began pulling boxes and storage totes down from their dusty shelves and placing them in front of me in order to spark SOMETHING. It just made me grumpier. I didn’t have time for any of this!! I had projects and studying and hair-pulling to do. Leave me alone, people! You’ll survive without the usual trappings for one year! (Oh, it was baaaad).
Some part of my sane brain that was still functioning, knew he was right, and that even though my kids are mostly adults, they still needed the comfort of traditions kept. And so, very begrudgingly, I started pulling glittery ornaments and white angels, and miles and miles of white Christmas lights out of boxes and half-heartedly setting them here and there. Christmas music helped (a little). As the house began to take on its familiar glow and twinkle of Christmas magic, I began to feel that familiar tug in my heart and began to be filled with the warmth that is unique to this time of year. Trevor got his way and I was glad.
That was last year.
This year it was GAME ON. I was ready. I was excited. I was my old, merry self. Hannah and I pulled everything into the downstairs living room and began to unpack and set our favorite things into place. I added even more miles of lights and more glittery ornaments. I cranked the Christmas tunes and belted out every one at the top of my voice.
But I think it went beyond my usual love of all-things-Christmas. It was feeling free to enjoy it all without that incredible cloud that had hung over me for two years. I am not complaining, mind you. I willingly signed up for all of it. I knew it would be hard. I also knew I would reach my goals, and I DID.
I think that is part of my exuberant joy this year. I am proud of myself. It is probably unforgivably gauche to say so in a public format. I do not care. I took on a challenge and conquered it. Yay, Vonda!
And to top it all off? My sweet husband is taking me to New York City for a few day to experience The Big Apple at Christmas time. Woohoo! Broadway and ice skating at Rockefeller Center and the Metropolitan Museum of Art and all the amazing things that I’ve always wanted to do. It is a delayed celebration of my hard work. It will be the frosting on the fruit cake. No, no, I don’t even like fruit cake (who does?). Let’s make it chocolate cake. Ooohhh, even better… French Silk pie. Yeah, NYC trip will the frosting on the French Silk pie (hey, it’s the holidays…)
So this year, when my sons finish their finals and get in their cars and head north to a rambling farm house on the prairie with enough lights to guide in small aircraft, I will listen to their tales of miserable end-of-semester woes and irrational professors, and I will nod sympathetically. Yes, it is hard and stressful to be in school. And I will smile, because I will know I have blazed a trail for them. They will conquer and succeed.
I did….
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