Bah! Humbug!

I don't know when it happened exactly, but at some point in my early life, I soured on Christmas. Given the deeply cynical streak that runs through me, it probably had to happen eventually, but I can't remember the last time I truly thought of Christmas as "magical."

I know this is supposed to be the best time of year -- peace on earth, goodwill to men, etc., etc., but it doesn't feel like that to me. Mostly, I view the thirty-odd days between Thanksgiving and Christmas as a period of rampant noise, busy-ness, materialism, stress, and unending, grinding work (as if I really need twelve dozen cookies lying around my house). Maybe if I could just focus on a beautiful baby in a manger, I might feel better. But I can't because, in the words of the immortal Homer J. Simpson, "Christmas is when we celebrate the birth of Santa."

To tell the truth, Santa is another problem for me. I'm not talking about the historical St. Nick, who from all accounts was a really good man that saved destitute children from slavery, but the modern Claus. I'm sorry if I offend, but to me, he's just creepy. To demonstrate what I mean, here is a chart comparing Santa (who dominates the contemporary holiday) and Jesus, (who, I've been told, is the reason for season).

Santa	Jesus
Even if Santa is supposed to be bringing gifts, I can't get over the felon-like quality of his breaking and entering. Let's say that I was sleeping in the middle of the night and awoke to the noises of someone in disguise with a great big bag prowling about my house, my first instinct would be to shoot first and ask questions later.	Jesus is a gentleman. He doesn't push or barge his way in. He doesn't look for sneaky ways in when one is least suspecting. Instead, He knocks on the door of one's heart and waits for an answer. In my opinion, this shows superior breeding and good manners.
There is something Orwellian about the way Santa's always watching and making lists. And now he has little elves-on-shelves spying on and reporting everybody. It feels a lot like Big Brother to me.	Actually, Jesus watches and makes lists, too, but somehow I don't feel as threatened. Maybe because He's looking for fallen sparrows and broken hearts.
Speaking of Big Brother, if you're on Santa's good side, you reap rewards. Otherwise, look out. It's lumps of coal for you. The problem, though, is that one never knows how good is good enough? I actually have a friend whose children play this online game where Santa tells them whether they've been good enough to get presents. There is a little arrow that swings back and forth between "Naughty" and "Nice," and her kids sit in sheer anticipatory terror praying it lands on "Nice." If you ask me, this game was designed by a shrink looking to drum up business.	Unlike Santa, God doesn't play those kinds of head games. Naughty or nice, it doesn't matter. You get the gift of a baby, of a savior. Actually, this gift is especially for the naughty.

So maybe, if Christmas were about the birth of Jesus, it would be more meaningful to me because I like Jesus, but Satan Santa leaves me nonplussed. I have other issues with Santa, too, like his perpetually red face (which makes me think he's imbibing more than just milk with his cookies), but I'll quit now before I really step over the line.

So anyway, I'm a Grinch, and this year, I'm feeling more Grinchy than usual. To make it worse, my middle child has requested an Elf-on-a-Shelf (ugh) and has professed a deep-seated belief in Santa Claus. This actually shocked me since I've always been very upfront on the topic -- There is NO Santa! (Interestingly enough, he also asked why we don't celebrate Chanukah. So that was another long conversation -- to summarize, I told him it was a lovely holiday for which I am eternally grateful because without it, there would be no Jesus and no Christmas. However, although I would like to help him celebrate that, I have enough dealing with just one day. I don't want to add 8 more on top of it. I know -- I've reached a new humbugging low.)

So I guess, here is the point of today's ramblings... I don't know if it's hormones (yes, I'm going to play that card) or because I've been unwell lately or the new house or unseasonably warm weather or what, but I'm having a harder time than usual getting into Christmas. In fact, I have three naked gingerbread houses that have been sitting for a week -- no frosting, no candy canes, not even a gumdrop in sight. At the moment, even ordinary tasks like laundry and dinner are taxing me. Forget decorating, baking, and shopping. Mostly, I just want to lie in bed with a book and not get up until January. It's quite possible that I'm the worst mom in the world, but this is the honest truth right now. Still, I have little ones, and it's not fair to Scrooge all over their excitement. For their sakes, I'm trying to put on a good face.

So mom to mom -- what do you do? Are you the kind of person that starts the Christmas countdown on Dec. 26th or do you flounder and flail through the holidays like me? How do you keep Christmas meaningful and exciting and fresh?

Machoism vs. Interdependence

My husband left for a business trip to San Diego the day we were expecting Hurricane Sandy to hit, leaving me with three kids, two dogs, and a generator. Having lived in places like Guam and Florida, I don't scare easily at wind and rain. However, I still gave my kids a big long speech about what to do in the event of an emergency.

I have to say that my neighbors (the ones who knew my husband would be out of town) were all very kind about offering assistance should I need it. There was one offer of help, though, that has got me thinking.

We have one neighbor who, on the outside, seems like such an imposing figure. He's quite tall and stocky. He's obviously very, very smart, and he has the sort of profession that requires a lot of quick-thinking and the ability to speak extemporaneously with a great degree of fluidity. However, he came over Monday afternoon to let me know that I could come over anytime if we needed help. But the way he did it was so faltering and stumbling and so apologetic, that it seemed out of character and tickled me a bit on the inside.

"If you need anything, let us know, and I, uh, I'll be glad to help. I'm sorry... that sounds a little bit like machoism, but with John out of town and all...and you've probably got it covered, but... just so you know, we'd be glad to help..."

It was a genuinely nice offer, and I genuinely appreciated it (particularly since I'd already given my kids instructions to call 911 and go to his family's house in case I got knocked out or something). But then I had to wonder what I did -- me with my little self -- to scare such a big man into fearing he might offend me by offering assistance, to worry that being a decent human being might be misconstrued as "machoism." (Seriously, I think a lot of people in NYC and NJ would love a bit of "machoism" right now.)

Of course, I don't really think it was me. Even though I'm far from being mousy, quiet, or dependent, I'm not (or at least I hope I'm not) the brash, strident, me-against-the-world type, either. My husband suggested that he might be used to women, though, who are fiercely independent to the point that just the offer of help implies to them that they're failing. Hmmm... I don't know. Either way, I wish that things were different between the sexes.

I know some women who complain chivalry is dead and singlehandedly are trying to revive it. They insist on men opening doors for them, giving up seats, standing up when they leave a table, taking their hats off in buildings, and so on. Then I know women who complain that these old-fashioned manners are degrading and sexist and are trying to kill them off. To both of these groups, I just want to say, "Chill. Be cool."

I've had men hold doors open and give up their seats for me -- and I think it's lovely! On the other hand, when I see men with their hands full or elderly/disabled men, I gladly do the same for them. My point is that basic human decency and consideration for one another shouldn't be gender-dependent. I think it would be nice to live in a world where women (or men) didn't feel like they had to carry burdens all on their own. I'd like to see a world where men (and women) could simply be nice and helpful to each other without being misunderstood. I'm talking about interdependency -- serving others wherever we can, and graciously accepting help when we need it. To me, that would be the definition of real "liberation," for women and men.

Ok, ok, I'm getting preachy. Getting down from my soapbox now.

Happy

Scrolling through Netflix at 4AM this morning (not that I wanted to be up, just couldn't sleep), I noticed a film called Happy.  Its description read:

Happy takes viewers on a journey from the swamps of Louisiana to the slums of Kolkata in search of what really makes people happy. Combining real-life stories and scientific interviews, the film explores the secrets behind our most valued emotion.

It sounded fascinating. Then I skipped it so I could catch up on Doc Martin. But the idea of the movie has stayed with me all day. What makes my family happy?

Knowing how hungry my boys are when they get home from school, I made some pretzels this afternoon. As soon as they found out, my little one started a happy dance. Even the older, "cooler" one threw his image aside, jumped into my arms, and plastered me with kisses. He exclaimed, "My day was horrible until I came home!"

So this was the answer to the question I'd been pondering all day. In our house, happiness is a little bit of flour, yeast, and water.

Assistant baker hard at work

To share our happiness with you, here is the recipe I used.

Soft Pretzels (makes 18 pretzels)

•  1 Tbsp yeast 
•  1 1/2 c Warm water 
•  2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
•  1 1/4 cups whole wheat flour 
•  3 Tbsp canola oil 
•  1 1/2 Tbsp Honey 
•  6 Tbsp baking soda; in 6 cups water 
•  pretzel salt; optional 

In a stand mixer, combine yeast, warm water, flours, oil, and honey. Using a dough hook, mix for about 5 minutes until you have a soft, smooth dough.

Place dough in a greased bowl; turn over to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until double (about 1 hour).

When the dough is almost done rising, line two baking trays with parchment paper. Lightly oil/grease the paper. Set trays aside.

When the dough has doubled, punch down dough, turn out onto a floured board,and divide into 18 pieces. Then roll each piece into a smooth rope about 12-18 inches long (depending on how thick you like them), and twist into a pretzel shape. Place pretzels slightly apart on baking sheets. Let rise, uncovered,until puffy (about 25 minutes).

Meanwhile, in a 3-quart stainless steel or enameled pan (not aluminum), bring soda water to a boil; adjust water to keep water boiling gently. With a slotted spatula, lower 1 pretzel at a time into pan. Let simmer for 10 seconds on each side, then lift from water, drain briefly on spatula, and return to baking sheet. Let dry briefly, then sprinkle with coarse salt if desired. Let stand uncovered until all have simmered.

Bake in a preheated 425 degree oven for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown. Transfer to racks; serve warm with butter or mustard.

We always seem to run out of pretzels immediately, but if you can't eat all of yours right away, you can cool them completely, wrap airtight, and freeze. To reheat, place frozen pretzel on ungreased baking sheets and bake in a preheated 400 degree oven for about 10 minutes or until hot.