Last weekend we had a family meeting and decided, among other things, to not go to Elgin for Christmas. While not quite a first for us, it is unprecedented since both kids were born. When I was pregnant with Andrew I was forbidden to travel and ended up on bed rest on Christmas Eve. The only other time I’ve not been in Elgin for Christmas was in 1978 when I spent it with the Burgoynes before my semester in London.

After our meeting I felt relieved that we’d made a decision. Then worried about what the Elgin folks would feel and then guilt-ridden. I rehearsed our reasons for staying in Bethesda for Christmas over and over until I’d convinced the little guilty voice in my head that it was the right thing to do.

Our reasons are solid, mostly. With Andrew’s wrestling on varsity this year, he shouldn’t miss practice, and there are only 4 days built into the schedule that are free of practice or tournaments. We also don’t have a convenient place to stay. I don’t mind hotels, but Dean hates them – and frankly, waking up Christmas morning in a hotel sounds really sad.

I’ve long wanted to have the kids wake up in their own beds on Christmas morning and walk downstairs, sleepy-eyed, to see what Santa left under the tree and hanging on the mantelpiece. Of course that dream was for when they were toddlers. Now that they are teenagers the scene changes a bit. Neither will wake up until mid-morning, at least. And because they go to bed much later than we do, the surprise of gifts under the tree might be more difficult than worth it. Oh, and neither believe in Santa anymore…

So, we’ll see how this not-going-home-for-the-holidays works out. The kids have promised to blame me if it sucks.

Ho ho ho.