Growing up there was this thing I dreaded, a holiday, for they were work days for my mother, and by this I mean, they were the days when she had her recalcitrant and reluctant help available, held captive by the celebration to come.
As an adult, I understand. She could not, and should not, have done everything herself, and that in a large and active family, pulling everyone together at the same time to accomplish a project is nigh impossible, except of course on holidays, for then my father, and the horde, were home to orchestrate as she wished.
Unfortunately, there was a fallout from this necessity, for I find myself withdrawing and hiding as a holiday draws near. I might have been happily anticipating its arrival, planning many pleasurable activities and interactions with my beloved, and then, the closer we get to the actual day, the more invisible I become