Karen over at Baking in a Tornado has started a Secret Subject Swap that I’m delighted to join this month with 15 brave bloggers.
My secret subject, “How do you stay connected to what truly matters during the holiday madness?” was submitted by Love Art Baby. Here is my response:
I pretend I live in a cottage in a small town without a name. Once inside my cottage, I’m like Laura Ingalls Wilder, except I have an outside connection through my landline and cable modem. I choose to connect when I want to and disconnect when I need to shut off the “noise” from outside my four walls.
Our small town has a population of three: Babyface, Hubs and me. We’re like the last three survivors of a post-apocalyptic, zombie-infested world who have discovered a way to keep from being “turned” into the walking dead. We’re sleek, sly and masterful enough to disappear from the mentally diseased population of the capitalistic, holiday massacre, if even for a few hours. If even for a few minutes, we live in our own little world, free of an endless George Romero, shopping-mall script.
I even have a toilet room, which is my own private outhouse. When I shut the door, it’s a long walk from the rest of the town’s citizens. Far enough away that my selective hearing muffles their voices and requests.
I’m like a part-time agoraphobic who has the ability to venture out and socialize, when she wants to…when she needs to. Call me and I’ll be there to help you with your kid. Call me and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, when the world doesn’t fall in line for you. Call me when you need a friend. I’ll even party it up and embrace the masses with quick, cool conversation, but I’ll always look forward to my hometown, my cottage…my holiday salvation.
Forget the crowded shopping malls, tree lightings and Christmas festivals. The biggest Christmas celebration around fits snuggly inside my small cottage. It’s a wall-to-wall Christmas extravaganza that all of the citizens rejoice in, respect and embrace.
I am the DJ and my MacBook is my turntable. I rotate Christmas tunes to suit each citizen’s tastes. Sometimes, I’m even selfish and repeat my preferred playlist. But I am Queen Mommy Unmuted (Queen MUM), so whatever I say…goes. STFU or Santa won’t get you that rocket ship, Babyface. STFU or the holidays will be G-rated, Hubs. Not really, but it’s in my head and this is MY version of our holiday story, right?
There is a choir of three in our house to provide Christmas Carols. There is an A Capella group that provides both the entertainment and makes up the audience. The judges, the citizens of our small town, all critique, but the performers are self-confident enough for vocal perseverance. Simon Cowell would embrace us as a group, because of our passion and spirit, but he’d probably criticize our imperfect pitch.
Not to mention, we’ve got some moves that would put a dancing elf to shame. Sometimes, we’re like cabbage patch dolls. Sometimes, we’re like running men. Sometimes, we’re like robots. Sometimes, we raise the roof. And, sometimes baby’s got back. We’re versatile in our array of prime time performances (poles excluded, of course).
There are even three nutty crackers around our house. Comedy is our specialty. We spend time talking about various, gaseous activities. Pooting is a favorite pastime of Babyface and Hubs, which doesn’t match the perfect sense of smell of Mommy. There are headlining comedians and a master heckler. A cottage full of “complimentary” comedy.
We spend time talking about the brilliant, abstract art of our very own Kandinsky, Ms. Babyface herself. The girl knows her colors and fine lines. She’s also very good at family portraits. Our images are all “stick” skinny (probably not far from the truth). Someday, I’ll be able to proudly say, “I was a principle in the Stick Period of Babyface.”
We sleep on a bed surrounded by sharks and laugh that we’re all comfy and cozy. We watch movies and read books together, while the sharks wait to devour us, but never catch a nibble. If someone needs to exit for necessities, like food, water or toilet, we blow up a raft and distract the blood-sucking great whites. We’re resourceful in times of need. We’ve got each other’s backs.
So, how do we stay connected to what truly matters, during the holidays? We stay together. We live in our own world, the minute the garage door shuts. The minute the front door locks and latches. The minute we all see each other’s faces and we’re alone and away from the over-scheduled madness. We escape into our shelter, like a nuclear bomb has just been launched. We escape and regroup, every time the world around us seems a bit too erratic or hectic.
I guess you could call us The Bubble Family during the holidays, except the citizens of our town give us two thumbs up, unlike the Jake Gyllenhaal flop.