Sitting down at last.
Christmas breakfast was a flurry of things going wrong and taking too long. My aunt came over to eat. Mum and I started cooking way too late, an experimental breakfast from a new recipe, and it was a bit of a comedy of errors, one thing going wrong after the next.
My aunt laughed good-naturedly at us from the sidelines, cheering us on. Right before we sat down to eat, cue Prosecco explosion in the fridge. We couldn’t wait any longer to eat, so we let the kitchen keep its mess for the time being, sat down and dug in.
It was delicious, at least. After my aunt left, Mum and I took on the colossal post-breakfast mess in the kitchen and then began the ordeal of emptying and dismantling the fridge for Prosecco-disaster cleanup.
This year I’m trying something new for the holidays—surrendering control.
I fly from Toronto to the Maritimes to visit Mum and this side of the family usually only once a year, typically for the holidays, and though it’s family, it’s a bunch of personalities I’m not really used to and holiday stress levels I’m definitely not used to. Resisting has been my modus operandi in the past, but this year, I’m giving in—to everything.
I left my expectations back at home, I’ve let go of the formerly pressing urge to control my surroundings and I’m open to whatever happens.
It’s hectic and it’s crazy and the days don’t pan out as they would if I had my druthers. But I’m assimilating; making it my own. In the past I would’ve sulked on the couch, protesting each unexpected turn of events. This time I’m diving in. I’m helping out. And it feels right.
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Editor: Catherine Monkman
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