Julie Jay: Why I'm thrilled to finally say goodbye to Christmas

I used to feel melancholic putting away the decorations, now I am craving beige interior, floor space, and a life that is tinsel-free

Julie Jay enjoys the festive period but is glad when it's all over. File picture: iStock 

AT the risk of sounding like the Grinch, the Christmas decorations are finally down, and I am delighted to be rid of them.

Historically, I would have been melancholic saying goodbye to it all, but now, as a parent drowning in toys that Santy kindly bestowed upon us, I am in dire need of the floor space and so felt absolutely zero sadness as the final homemade Christmas decoration was stuffed into a storage box — not to be seen again until December 2026, unless, of course, we convert to another religion in the interim. 

Given my ability to fully commit to anything, the odds of that are extremely low.

I wouldn’t say Christmas was a trial, but we got through it in the same way housemates might get through a lease: Making do with our lot and ploughing on, because no other option was on the table. It was fine, with great moments and testing moments, but safe to say, I am ready to face January now, knowing we all gave it our best shot.

For the main event itself, we had a lovely Christmas Day, despite our toddler getting sick during the afternoon, puking all over the serving plate of Brussels sprouts. But we all got through it, minus any obvious nervous breakdowns, and for any family of small children, or any family at all, that is a win.

But after the big day, something always shifts.

The decorations start to feel less magical and more accusatory. The tree is still there, lights blinking aggressively, while the children have moved on emotionally and are now fighting over a cardboard box. 

The festive music is replaced by the constant refrain of miniature steel pots and pans being banged together, because Santy gifted a toy kitchen, with all its accoutrements, to your impossibly tiny chef.

And, suddenly, the decorations are just more stuff. More things to work around while you’re trying to locate a pair of socks or your wedding ring. 

The tinsel has fallen into the toy box, and now everything is tinsel. You find glitter on the baby, on the cat, in your tea. At this point, glitter isn’t festive: It’s bordering on sinister, the way it keeps popping up everywhere unannounced.

Craving routine and normality

Taking down the decorations signifies a return to normality, and, currently, I am craving beige. I want routine, minimalist interior, and a return to normal telly, having survived on a repeat loop of Home Alone since what feels like November.

Before anyone gets in touch with me, denouncing Home Alone as unsuitable for a five-year-old, I don’t entirely disagree with you. 

But, unfortunately, the train has already left the station, my son having watched it so many times that he can reel off quotes ad nauseam. His favourites include: ‘You’re what the French call les incompetants’ and ‘I wouldn’t let you sleep in my room if you were growing on my ass.’ 

His fondness for belting these particular quotes at inopportune times is why we had to exit Christmas Eve Mass before we even got to the first reading.

Putting away the Christmas stuff has given me a massive sense of control, even if it hasn’t extended to limiting the increasingly huge box of toys that is slowly taking over our house. 

We were thrilled with what Santy delivered, but when I suggested that some toys from last year might be put away to make room for the presents of 2025, the two boys protested like French students agitating for university reform in the 1960s. (Yes, I have been bingeing the podcast The Rest Is History, while doing the laundry over Christmas.)

Even minus the Christmas stuff, our home is bursting at the seams, but we have decreased the amount of candle logs in the house by at least 80%. We didn’t dispose of them completely, because my toddler likes to have something to nibble on in the evening.

I once had an English college friend whose parents would take down the tree the day after St Stephen’s Day.

Thankfully, on this island, we have some level of decency when saying goodbye to Christmas. That said, Irish people probably leave decorations up even longer than we personally want to out of fear of judgement.

You don’t want to be the family who took them down ‘too early’ and thus viewed as the bah-humbugs of the cul-de-sac. But, inside, you’re itching for it. You’re ready. The children won’t notice. They’re busy asking for snacks.

Conversely, you don’t want to be the last to take down the tree, because that screams, ‘we’re a house that can’t let go’. 

It’s a delicate dance between too early and too late.

And when you finally dispose of the tree — when it is boxed up, and the lights are gone — there’s a strange sense of peace. The house looks bigger, quieter: Like it’s exhaled. You sit down, look around, and think, ‘We survived that’.

And to commend yourself on this achievement, you treat yourself to a bowl of plum pudding. Because as much as we are ready to say goodbye to the decorations, the desserts are here for life, not just for Christmas.