I have a holiday cocktail napkin that always reminds me to keep a sense of humour during the hectic weeks leading up to Christmas Day.
It shows a spotless 1950s kitchen where a mother and daughter are about to pull Christmas dinner from the oven. The little girl looks thrilled, while her mother appears calm and composed. But the caption reveals what’s really going on: “She was one plum pudding away from a Yuletide meltdown.” After decades of preparing turkey dinners with all the trimmings, I completely get it.
By now, I should be a pro at Christmas dinner. I should be able to get a hot turkey dinner from oven to table to plate before the gravy congeals, but every year it’s a challenge. No matter how organized I am ahead of time, as soon as that bird comes out of the oven, there is a crazed flurry of activity in the kitchen. Within minutes, my kitchen looks like a bomb went off. And then, once we sit down at the beautifully laid table, almost everyone eats far too quickly (perhaps they were expecting hot turkey), and the feast that took days to prepare is over in 15 minutes.
Of course, the dinner itself is just one piece of the holiday stress puzzle. The weeks leading up to Christmas are jam-packed with shopping, baking, decorating, and socializing. Even the jolliest among us can end up feeling like Scrooge. It’s tough to keep your cool when there’s so much to do and so little time, especially when you’re chasing that elusive perfect Christmas.
A few years ago, I had an epiphany that changed everything. It was late at night, just a few days before Christmas, and my mind was racing with endless to-do lists. Instead of visions of sugarplums, I was worrying about the cookies I hadn’t baked, the stocking stuffers I still needed, and even whether I had polished the doorknobs. And then it hit me – Christmas would come and go no matter what I did or didn’t do. My family didn’t care about one more batch of cookies or an extra string of lights. The only person holding these ridiculous expectations was me.
That realization was a game-changer. Since that night, I’ve simplified my holiday routine. I shop less, bake fewer cookies, decorate more sparingly, and no longer sweat the small stuff. Instead of obsessing over every detail, I focus on what really matters: reflection, spiritual preparation, and spending quality time with my family. When I’m relaxed and rested instead of frazzled and cranky, Christmas is so much better – for everyone.
I’ve never forgotten the reason for the season or the importance of keeping Christ in Christmas. Even when I was caught up in the hustle and bustle, my heart was in the right place. But looking back, I can see how my over-the-top efforts to create a perfect Christmas were driven by a deeper longing for the season’s intangible joys – spiritual renewal, a peaceful home, good health, and a sense of togetherness. None of those things can be wrapped in tinsel or baked into a pie. While I still feel the occasional tug of holiday stress, I’m much better at staying focused on what truly matters.
At its core, Christmas is about generosity and relationships. Yes, special meals, gifts, and decorations can enhance the celebration, but they shouldn’t take over. If you find yourself “one plum pudding away from a Yuletide meltdown,” it’s probably time to reassess. Unrealistic expectations have a way of stealing the season’s joy.
Since that sleepless night, I’ve scaled back my holiday preparations, and it’s made a world of difference. Now, if I could just figure out how to serve a piping hot turkey dinner without my kitchen looking like a war zone, I’d finally be the jolliest of elves.
Louise McEwan has degrees in English and Theology. She has a background in education and faith formation.
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