WHY I WOULD NEVER
By Emily Meade Strong (Southern Ledger Writer)
I've sworn since I was an uber-hip, know-it-all teen that I'd never write one of those geeky, family Christmas letters- too minivan, too suburban, too conformist for me. As an optimistic mom who desired to be different from everyone else, I also vowed I'd never be a soccer mom. But every Monday evening and Saturday morning, I get to eat crow as I drive my daughter to practices and games. Ah! The deceiving promise of "I'll never..."
While some cultures practice long periods of isolation for new mothers, our right of passage from womanhood into true motherhood comes in the form of the infamous, time-honored cornerstone of holiday tradition - the annual Christmas letter.
Why did I naively believe that I could be the first mom to circumvent fate? I'm 35 and way past cool (this slowly occurs to me between making up songs about poop and discovering that my daughter's friends have never heard "totally tubular" as an exclamation to describe something wonderful). And amid the daily hubbub of "mommydom," it's next to impossible to have a complete, meaningful and uninterrupted conversation on the cell phone to catch up with friends. The letter is the only way.
Begrudgingly, I sit down to write the letter that I promised never to write - the Christmas letter - and accept my place in the proverbial minivan. I really must stop using that word "never."
Staring into the light of my laptop, I face my most difficult writing assignment to date. Despite being a creative writer who suffers from chronic embellishment (much to my mother's chagrin), this holiday task is downright daunting. I must somehow manage to update every relative, neighbor and friend neatly on one sheet of 8 1/2 X 11-inch decorative paper with optional photo while offering season's greetings, gossip and the year in words all in one fell swoop. Recapping each family member's grandest achievements without sounding too boastful (daughter's straight A's, giving birth, baby crawling and husband starting his own business) while spinning calamities (daughter's tween-age mood swings, breastfeeding baby's first two teeth cut - ouch, husband's obsessive hunting season trips rendering me virtually single for the past month) into positive proclamations is a fine line to walk.
How do I even begin? Maybe with the truth: "It's official. I have become my mother."
So if you haven't heard from me in eons - watch your mailbox. I'm licking a business- size envelope with your name on it! But do let me assure you of one thing I know for certain: I will never e-mail my holiday greetings by pressing "send" and cc:-ing everyone in my cyberaddress book! Gasp! Now that I would never do!
___ A wife, mother of two and daughter of aging parents suffering from Alzheimer's disease, Emily Meade Strong unequally divides her time between taking care of everyone else and writing about her Southern life and Appalachian roots.
Copyright 2006 The Southern Ledger. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
