Christmas Decorating Is No Joke
I don’t know how my mom did this for so long.
I always pictured my first Christmas with my boyfriend would be spent at his parents’ sprawling house, which is across the street from what used to be a golf course where hundreds of geese hang out during the middle of their migration. I have no idea what his parents’ Christmas decoration situation is like, but I always pictured it as elegant, if not somewhat very Italian. Or maybe for our first Christmas together, we would fly down to my dad’s farm in Tennessee, even though my dad has never decorated for Christmas beyond a wreath on his front door. At least my boyfriend would enjoy mudding or birding. Alternatively — and this has always been my preference— we would drive down to my mom’s place, which is not really about the location since every year or two she moves to a new state, but all about my mom’s dedication to making Christmas feel special.
However, the coronavirus doesn’t give a damn about plans or dreams, so we make do. Our first Christmas together will be spent in our Brooklyn apartment, just the two of us. I don’t have any qualms about this, since for the past eight years my Christmases have usually just been my just mom and I, but this year the pressure to pull off a perfect Christmas feels insurmountable. Of course, all that pressure is self-created (my boyfriend says all…