Christmas and Clydesdales (Or Field Mice?)

Hallmark makes it seem perfectly easy. All you have to do is throw on your flannel pj's and snuggle into the cozy scene - snow falls gently outside; inside, the house glitters with glowing tree and garland wrapped banister, matching Christmas dishes and accessories adorn the table; all gifts are hand-made and are lovingly wrapped and personalized; the kids are smiling, hot cocoa in hands, while Grand-pa reads the Christmas story, as is tradition; a prodigal brother comes home from fighting the good cause, a bag of presents in his ruck sack; and if you listen closely, you might hear the jingle of sleigh bells or see a parade of Clydesdales leaving fresh footprints in the newly fallen snow..

You get the idea.

And even though I KNOW the truth - that I live in Metroplex, Texas which means no snow EVER, and flannel pj's, therefore, are right out because it's still 80 degrees outside; the tree may be glowing, but only after three strands of mostly working lights and a short power outage (oops); the Christmas dishes are still packed away in the top of some cabinet somewhere and washing them is too much of a chore, anyway; the gifts are still..uh.. at the store and the wrapping paper is a product of the high school band fundraiser and is still sitting in the high school band hall because the seller doesn't remember that he is in band and the paper hasn't been delivered; the kids cat has brought in a field mouse and let it loose under the Christmas tree; the brother may come home from fighting holiday traffic, but he works for UPS and they may need him to work up until Christmas day; and if you listen closely, you can hear the traffic on I20, especially those punk teenagers who like to race down the frontage road. - Even though I know this is the reality, I still somehow cling to the Hallmark version, like I need to believe that the fantasy really does exist somewhere and that someday I may be able to aspire to that level of picturesque bliss.

As I've gotten older, my role in the imaginary scene has changed - I'm no longer the kid with the cocoa. I am the mom who effortlessly put together the moment and am in the kitchen sipping wassail while checking completed tasks off the 'to-do' list. Silly, right?! (sigh)

Please don't misunderstand. I've had plenty of Hallmark moments in my life, filled with lots of instances that seem to fit into that greeting card envelope - my mom worked tirelessly to make it so. But the hard part is understanding that when the planets actually do align perfectly and the fairy Godmother waves her magic wand in this direction, creating something that feels similar to the imagined bliss, that those moments rare - lovely, but rare.

So we should make the most of them for when reality sneaks its Grinchy truth back into our lives. We should participate in the fantasy in as much as it makes us hopeful for something, that it motivates us to work a little harder for something. We should be careful to imagine it in a way that doesn't leave us disappointed by the truly lovely things - like when your brother, even though he works for UPS and can only stay for a little while, gets to come and visit for a few days. And maybe there will even be wassail!