Holidays=Compromise, A Rant

I think I might be gearing up to hate holidays. And that is so, so sad, because really I love holidays. But, pretty much every holiday since the Toddler was born has just brought me angst. My Man and I have the same argument every time, where we both want to provide her with the experience we remember and cherish, each obviously thinking our way is best.

It pretty much comes down to candy and cheap plastic toys. I hate both. I mean, true secretly I have a junk food tooth, but it’s certainly not something I want to encourage in my own kiddos. And c’mon! For breakfast?! Are you kidding me?

My little girl has had nothing, almost literally, but pure sugar in the past 24 hours. We went to an Easter party last night and she had a massive candy eating episode, then of course, My Man couldn’t resist seven different kinds of candy for her Easter morning. I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that’s okay, any day of the year.

And the cheap plastic toys. Why do they plague me so? Or, better said, why don’t they plague everyone else?

To me, Easter means dying eggs, and then hunting for them Easter morning. I seem to remember we would each get like one chocolate bunny or something. I don’t remember us having these plastic eggs filled with more and more and more candy. And we would each get maybe one stuffed animal or toy. I’m cool with that, I can ride that wave. But a glut of toys and candy equaling a holiday sits like a rock in my stomach.

I guess this cuts to very heart of marriage. A subject I have been trying to find the right angle to approach on this blog for some time now. Marriage is the twining and fusing of two (usually disparate) family traditions, expectations, and general style. It gets messy.

As humans we are attached to our own way, which we always assume to be the right way.

This subject is never tackled in parenting books.

So, assume you’ve thought and thought and read and read and talked to everyone with any opinion, and finally sussed out your own idea of How Best to Raise Your Children.

Ooops. They’re not your children. Assuming there was a consenting partner, you then have to figure out how to balance what you believe to be right, with what they believe is right. Goddamn it.

And, get this. If you respect, admire and love your partner, which since they are the father/mother of your child, you’d really better consider, you have to give at least some credence to the idea that they might be right as well, or even (yeep!) instead.

Of course, in this particular case, I am right. Right?