I hate being a scrooge. Hate it. But, alas, I am.

I don’t really know when I lost my Christmas spirit, but I know that it hasn’t been around in quite a few years, which is terrible. I don’t understand it either, because I’ve never had a bad Christmas, or something that might have triggered my feelings. And knowing that I don’t have any Christmas spirit makes me feel guilty, which in turn makes me even crankier when it comes to Christmas.

There are a lot of reasons for my scrooge-ness, but I think it pretty much all boils down to the fact that there are so many expectations and obligations this time of year. There’s family and work functions, things to buy and make, cards to mail, and a million and one other things to do. As an example, just for work related functions, I need to bake 4 dozen cookies (or some other goodies), purchase an edible-type gift for a gift exchange, and make something for a brunch potluck. With everything going on, and all the stress I find myself under, I just can’t find time to relax and feel the magic of the season.

This has been weighing heavily on my heart lately and for some reason, this week it’s come to a head. I even told my mom that I hated Christmas. Who says that?

It’s not entirely true, because I love the true meaning of Christmas…but I feel like Christmas has gone so far beyond that.

I need to get over this. I need and want to experience the joy of Christmas again. I want to be excited for my kids. I want to participate in their excitement, rather than be on the outside, looking in. But how?

Maybe the first step in finding my Christmas spirit is to admit my feelings. In years past, I’ve just buried and hid them. So here I am, admitting that I dislike Christmas.