A Season for Everything

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas newsletters.

I hate writing them, though sometimes I do. It’s always a struggle to decide what to include, what will be of interest to family and friends, what will cause their eyes to glaze over like a Krispy Kreme donut. What spin should I put on an event? Can I mention that? Will telling it upset anyone? How much is enough? How much is too much? It drives me nuts! Eventually, though, I manage to crank out a pretty good letter if I do say so myself. Printed out in festive red and green they go into the Christmas cards of those chosen ones who rate a homoginized summary of the last year of our family’s life. I was late getting our cards out this year (as in I mailed them yesterday) so I didn’t write a letter. Do you suppose everyone who opens a card from us will be dreadfully disappointed?

On the other side of things are the newsletters we receive from far-flung and seldom seen friends and relatives. For the most part I do like to get these. It’s nice to see pictures of children you’ve never met, see how much they resemble the parents you remember from younger days and read about their accomplishments. Nice, too, to hear what the parents have been up to during the past year. There is one glaring exception to my enjoyment of these letters. There is one letter that arrives each Christmas tucked inside an expensive, embossed card. It comes from my childhood best friend. We were like sisters when we were younger. She was my maid of honor. Now, to be honest, there is nothing wrong with her letters. The problem lies in me. The green-eyed monster that normally slumbers undisturbed in my heart jolts awake with the arrival of this letter each Christmas. My friend is one of those people. One of those beautiful, blessed, golden people that the sun always shines on. Her life has always seemed charmed. She has always been tall, blonde, incredibly gorgeous, smart, funny and very sweet. You know her kind. They are the cheerleaders, student council presidents, homecoming and prom queens. I’m not with out my own gifts but as a curvy, brunette of average height, with more than a smattering of freckles I always felt like the unglamorous, ugly stepsister next to her. So it isn’t that I begrudge her anything, it’s just that her life makes me feel like mine is lacking some how. This year alone her letter contained the following:

1. Husband is now a V.P. of marketing for a major pharmaceutical company and travels internationally.
2. Inspite of high pressure career, husband makes time for family in the form of several vacations a year.
3. Her Human Resources consulting business is going gangbusters.
4. She leads a group at church, started a bible study group in her neighborhood and leads the neighborhood women’s association.
5. They bought a second home on a lake and are looking at boats.
6. As mentioned, they went on several vacations….all near water.
7. Youngest daughter who has a disease, which can be life-threatening, has responded to treatment and is a whiz kid at 3.
8. All 4 children are beautiful, extremely talented, athletically gifted and involved in activities up to the eyeballs, which they fit in between accepting acclaim and awards.

Do you see what I mean? I don’t wish my friend had a crappy life or anything. She really is a beautiful person in all the ways that count, but every year when I get her letter I can’t help but feel like the ugly stepsister again. Hubby says not to let it bother me, to remember that most people make their Christmas letters sound better than their lives really are. Maybe, but not this friend. She is the real deal, so beautiful and nice it hurts and I feel even crappier for feeling the way I do.