Enormity of holidays can be overwhelming

While I worked, part of my mind was somewhere else.

I’d brought my Christmas list with me that morning and I was thinking about what I would spend, and when I would shop and when on earth I would get it all wrapped and put under the tree.

To clear my head, I went down to the coffee shop to get a cup of tea and walked through the mall on my way back to the office.

The mall was crowded, it always is this time of year, and on the main floor there was a line of families – mostly mothers – waiting to have the children’s photographs taken with Santa.

I sat down on a bench to watch them.

Near the end of the line, at the back of the tree, was a woman with a little boy. His blonde hair was slicked down and he was wearing a pair of plaid pants, a sweater vest and dress shirt with a red bow tie.

While they waited, he held his mother’s hand and they chatted.

“I’m going to see Santa Claus,” he said, turning his sweet face up to her.

“Yes you are,” his mother replied.

He danced around her like she was a Maypole, singing and talking, waiting patiently for his turn. When he got a little restless his mother tried to distract him.

“Look at the Christmas tree,” she said pointing up to the very top. “Have you ever seen such a big tree?”

Standing at the base of the enormous mall tree the toddler hadn’t noticed just how big it was. But when he looked up, and up, and up, he was startled.

“Hey, that tree is too big,” he said with alarm, moving away. “I don’t like that tree.”

His mother tried to reassure him, but he wasn’t buying it.

“I’m scared of that big tree, mama.” He cried. “Let’s get out of here.”

By that time the line had moved forward and it was almost the little boy’s turn with Santa. But he had both arms wrapped around his mother’s legs and his face buried in her jeans. Desperate to salvage the day, she tried to get his attention.

“Look,” she said. “There’s Santa Claus.”

He peeked out, around her leg, and took one long look at the big man in the red suit, white beard and black boots; at the chair that was as big as a throne; at the big, big tree behind him.

“No!” he cried. “I don’t want to see Christmas today.”

He let go of his mother and darted out into the mall. She ran after him and caught him in her arms.

“No, mama, no,” he sobbed. “Please, mama. I want to go home.”

Defeated, and probably near tears herself, she swept him up and held him close. His arms and legs were wound around her and he hid his face in the curve of her neck.

I watched them walk away.

I felt some sympathy for the mother. I’m sure she wondered when she was going to get another chance to get that photo she wanted to send to the grandparents and aunts and uncles. To her it must have felt like a wasted morning with nothing to show for the time and trouble taken. And, she probably felt guilty about what had happened.

But, to be honest, I agree with him.

At least once every year, when the holidays get out of control and loom over me the way the bigger-than-life tree had dwarfed the child, I have the same reaction: No. It’s all too much.

I finished my tea and walked back to my desk. I took the piece of paper, the list that overwhelmed me every time I looked at it, and slipped it into a drawer.

By the 25th of December, I’ll have things done. I always do.

But, just like the little boy, I’m not ready to see Christmas yet.