Planning for Christmas perfection should be simple by now. I’ve been doing this holiday countdown for so many decades that I should have the decorating, baking and meal prep perfected. Fuggedabouddit. I’m lost as usual.

I have no one but myself to blame. Isn’t our American Christmas supposed to be a feast for the senses? Somewhere along the line I must have read too many magazines with pictures of holiday perfection. Isn’t that the magazine’s goal – to create that desire? Years ago, that idea worked on me.

I bought in. Yup, my holiday home should be visually festive and smelling like pine, and cookies, and chocolate. Windows should be filled with candles, and mantels adorned with greens, and lights, lights, lights.

And each year I fail myself.

This year is different. I’m going to fail again, but I’m getting philosophical about it.

Years of making 20 pounds of buttercrunch then packaging and delivering? Maybe not. Wait – not maybe … definitely not.

Each year, as the Christmas decorations come out and the shopping lists are made. I think I am going to pare down and simplify. I’m beginning to realize that as much as I love the over-the-top decorations and feasting, it has finally become wishful thinking. I’m stuck admitting that I understand the need for less, much less. But I’m still finding it difficult to let go of the dream.

I play Christmas music while I decorate the tree. But now I also want to be steady stepping up and down the footstool and for tree decorating not to take 3 days. I could leave one entire ornament box unopened – but then “they” wouldn’t all be there – my old ornament buddies, each with their memories and stories.

I would like the presents at least wrapped when the family arrives instead of always hunting for hidden early purchases on Christmas morning. I hate myself for succumbing to stuffing the last handful of presents into gift bags. I used to create magic, wielding the tape dispenser and rolls of two-sided wrapping paper. I think only the Magi have magic this Christmas.

And why is it that I usually realize at midnight Christmas Eve that I haven’t made that morning “time-saver” casserole? I thought the 2:00 a.m. Christmas Eves would be over after the kids grew up.

The Buy List and the To-do List have been written for a while. As I cross five items off the list, I seem to add four. The end is not yet in sight.

Thank God for the few, old reliable memories … the little things that don’t change and conjure up all the Christmases past. My favorite is the world’s smallest nativity – proof that bigger isn’t always better.

I was five when Mom found our first apartment following the family split. She began that year to make Christmas her way for the two of us. She brought home from Woolworth’s a small fitted box containing four little wax figures each about two inches tall. The tiny wax Christmas family has been with me ever since. More than 3/4 of a century!

Mary, the mother, is kneeling. She is white except for the light blue veil over her head and shoulders. The standing Joseph is clad monk-like in a brown robe. His brown hair is almost totally rubbed off now. I always stand the wee lamb beside watchful St. Joe. The white oval crèche cradles the babe at the center of the three surrounding figures.

This little quartet comes out of hiding every Christmas whether they were stored in San Diego, Boston, many towns in Connecticut, or upstate New York. They even traveled to Rochester General the Christmas that I spent many weeks in the hospital. And though they live year-round now in a drawer, their years in storage haven’t melted or faded them.

They represent for me, the simple story of Christmas. The fact that they are so small and so humble, says it all. I had a big manger set over the years – replete with wise men, shepherds, seraphim and cherubim, cows, camels and sheep. Downsizing our household dictated the end of the complete manger tableau. My tiny holy family is enough.

But whether the house is Christmas perfection – it won’t be – or the presents are wrapped, or the food is heavenly, none of those expectations matter as much as just being together with the family. I guess I always considered the falderal of the holiday as part of my gift to them. Being a slow learner has taken its toll on my body, my sanity and my holiday sleep.

Eight hours sack time on Christmas Eve is now going to be my new standard of perfection. My Christmas gift to me. Simply perfect.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Marcy O’Brien writes from Warren.