Merry Stressmas

It's that time of year again. You know, the time of year when money is tight, time is tighter, and the music is festive.

Between the sugary food and the even more sugary music, I think I'm about to be festived right into a coma.

In the space of eight days, I've been to six parties (four of them on one weekend), three pageant practices, the movies, the Post Office and UPS Store, and who knows how many department stores. In one evening, I spent an hour at the lumber/hardware store and another hour at the hobby store, purchasing supplies for an art installation for next month's charity art show. Of course we're getting ready for the Cub Scout Derby next month, too. And, to top it off, my internet service is on the fritz, which means extra trips to the library or Starbucks.

My son's out of school and, as a single mom, it means taking him with me on these errands. He's a great kid, seldom any trouble, but last night he had a bit of the Grinch in him. After a particularly tiring grocery run, we had one of those "talks"--the kind that ends with an early bedtime for son and a headache for mom.

After one more rendition of "Santa Baby," I ended the evening feeling like a Grinch myself. When I passed the mirror, I noticed green fur and a potbelly. Okay, so the potbelly was already there.

I work, of course, and--while it's not the job I went to college for--I enjoy my job. Retail is hard, busy work, but I love hard work. But retail at Christmas? Definitely a challenge.

I went to work this morning with my Merry Christmas grin pasted on my face (perhaps looking Grinchier than ever), determined to make it through the day with a smile.

Somewhere between "Winter Wonderland" and, yes, "Santa Baby," I encountered an elderly woman buying herself an expensive gold bracelet.

"I'm all alone," she said, "and the other women in my office always show me the beautiful gifts they receive for Christmas from their husbands or boyfriends. I used to be sad that I had no one to buy me nice gifts. Then one day, I said to myself, 'Why am I waiting for someone to buy me nice things? It's not like I don't have the money to buy them for myself.'" She smiled as she said it, and I smiled too--for real, this time.
Sometime later, after I'd tripped over a box and put a staple through my finger (I blame the music), I met another woman. She was stylish, perfectly put-together, restrained, not chatty. As I wrapped up the watch she'd chosen for her son, she suddenly said, "He's twenty-three. We've been estranged for...some years. I'm hoping this...this gift is the right thing...the thing that will help make it better." And she cried, right there at the jewelery counter, this total stranger, and I held her hand for a moment. Because she needed to share this moment with someone. And because she was a mother, and I was a mother, it was okay.

The holidays are hard, all the emphasis on being full of joy and peace, when in reality, we're usually just tired. Being without family is hard, and feeling alone when you're with them is even harder. The last thing most of us need is more pressure to feel happy.

"God bless you," she told me, with a brave and trembling smile. "God bless you."

And the thing is, he did. He does. Because among all the white Christmases and chestnuts roasting and figgy pudding--none of which even remotely resemble my holidays--I had a genuine connection, a moment of understanding with a real person.