Ah Christmas, that magical time of year when everyone puts aside their differences and coexist in perfect harmony. Decorations are lovingly placed in just the right spot…food taste better, smiles are brighter, and the serenity of the whole scene rivals that of the nativity crèche itself. That is unless, of course, you live in the real world. In that case, your home is cluttered with gifts, the tree doesn’t quite fit, one light is always burned out, your cookies are smoldering in the oven, and you’ve asked yourself at least six times if the children really need to be out of the school a full two weeks. Or maybe, just maybe you fall somewhere in between like a majority of the world. Don’t get me wrong, Christmas is one of my favorite times of year. I love the idea of Christmas, the reason for Christmas, and the spirit of Christmas. I am a jolly elf come Christmas time and love nothing more than gathering gifts and good wishes for other people…really, I do. I, however, am in the minority at our house. Imagine if Christmas, in all its glory and serenity was a fantastically overwhelming and under-fulfilling experience for you. What if the holiday season was one continuous over stimulating and exacerbating social experience for you?

Christmas at our house, like most holidays, is somewhat understated. The outsider might look at our house and immediately think “Scrooge!” Our decorations include a tree, stockings, a nativity, and two gingerbread houses. The tree is put up with a squeal of glee; my young Aspie immediately begins managing the fluffing of the tree…by proxy, because the feel of the artificial pine needles sends him into a tizzy. After I’ve fluffed a little, because patience is not a virtue we readily possess, we have to check the lights. This is when I literally thank God for giving someone the idea of pre-lit trees because they are so much more even than I could ever manage to make the lights. The tree is plugged in and I, foolishly, say “They’re great! Not a light out of place!” Meanwhile, my son has found 3 lights that are indeed not working and must immediately be replaced because they are all he can stare at. They are truly a menace to his little brain. Ornaments are next. Our ornaments do not match; they are a collection of stories that capture moments in our life. For example, this year, the kids received a Stormtrooper and a Yoda ornament (their Halloween costumes), I received a computer ornament (for starting my blog), and my husband received sushi ornaments (our favorite meal). My son is the unspoken man in charge of placement, though his right hand man (Diva Girl) certainly comes in a close second. Every ornament broken or scratched is mourned and either fixed or whisked away. Ornaments that don’t meet criteria that make the tree “suitable for viewing” that I refuse to get rid of are carefully placed high in the back to limit their face time. Contrary to the criterion to make it on the tree, actual placement of the ornaments is relatively half-hazard, or so it would seem. But, all ornaments are in a place and there is a reason behind it. When they are moved, it is noticed immediately. Quite the challenge when your daughter thinks it is immensely funny to move ornaments constantly.

After the tree is put up, the nativity comes out of it carefully packed box. We check the crèche to make sure that no extra grass needs to be added to the top. Apparently, the nativity scene needs to be grassy to add a “realistic feel.” I lost control over the nativity as soon as my son could be trusted to hold the pieces carefully. My goal to show the nativity scene to all who enter was overshadowed by the need to place the pieces in the way in which he sees it. It is easier this way. Otherwise, we would be arguing until January about why the cow would never be that close to a baby. A mother would never allow it, especially Jesus’ mother. Our nativity is crowded…everyone wants to see that baby. “Mom, why would people walk for a really long time to stand quietly by and hope to catch a glimpse of a baby to their side?!” Point dutifully taken. The diva gets to decide where the angel (now a “holy princess”) gets to stand watch. This is a victory.

We are a quirky people to most. This is life…decorations are overwhelming when you think about it. Try standing a room…the room you spend the most time in no less…with spotlights blaring at you from all directions. Try sitting in that room with stacks of clutter so high you can’t focus on anything else. Try having someone rearrange your living room, not telling you, then sending you in blindfolded. That is what this “new” environment is now like. We adjust slowly, running into the Christmas tree at least a dozen times before our brain finally remembers it is there. Once presents are under the tree, we will have to relearn the entire layout again. It is that startling of a difference. Our decorations are limited to one room in order to limit the disturbance in our force. The force is strong with ours, but somewhat shaky. Small, even unnoticeable differences are game stoppers in our house.

For the next month we practice Christmas. Yes, practice. We role play receiving gifts we may not like. We role play not getting gifts we expected. We role play waiting on others to open their gifts. We talk at length about all of these things, and many more. We practice saying ‘Thank you for thinking of me,” because the thought of saying he likes a gift he doesn’t is heart wrenching. After all, my son is a truth teller. He believes things are black and white. There is no gray, there is not black other than his black, there is no white other than his white. It’s not conceded, it is just the way he works. We answer all of his “what if” scenarios. I even spend time talking to him about other people’s decorations. They are to be admired, but not moved, and if they are overwhelming we come up with contingency plans. When we come to your house, never be insulted if mom or dad insists on taking him on an outside break. The outdoors is soothing and relatively constant…comparatively speaking. All of this practice, and I guarantee, we’ll still have a meltdown somewhere because the napkin didn’t feel right, the party hat was itchy, or dinner talk was too loud. Not to mention the yearly discussion about Santa Claus that we have to remind him not everyone feels it is not practical or financially responsible for a fat man to go down every chimney and leave gifts.

You see, the holidays as society has made them are not sensory and socially friendly. Sure, most people love visiting others houses and catching up. However, for many out there it is overwhelming in the most severe way. Not only have you been plopped into an unfamiliar environment that smells, looks, and even taste different…you are forced into social situations that involve a lot of small talk, facial recognition, and subtle social clues. We…I…forget so often that my glare across the room will not stop a socially inappropriate comment from coming out. It will be lost, I will be frustrated, he will be confused, and no one wins. He meant no harm saying “But I don’t like this game, you can have it.” Society has made the holidays all about glitz and glamor. We’ve forgotten as a whole that the holidays are about humble beginnings to great things. Love and family should consume our thoughts, not gifts and parties. Gatherings at our home are low key and low stress. Come if you want, don’t if you don’t. Know our door is always open but we respect your needs and wants. I miss this in many other gatherings. Not because I don’t like them…I love to socialize…but because I am the one that has a house full of my family that cannot handle the high stress and expectations of Christmas time. All the practice in the world, all the good jobs, all the thank you for trying so hard….they disappear with that one look of disappointment that is recognized.

If you are reading this and live in a home like ours, congratulations, you made it back to school and the sense of normalcy and structure that comes with it. If you don’t live in a house like ours, please visit us next Christmas, but don’t be insulted if we don’t stay long at your gathering. We love you and want to be with you, but we are doing the best we can to cope in our own way. We are weird, but we like it that way. While I like the hustle and bustle of Christmas, I live in a home of people just trying to do the right thing and a get by. Their ideal Christmas is quiet, but full of love and good intentions. And, to me, that is exactly how it should be.