Why I don't send Christmas cards

Maybe I will eventually?

The one and only candid Christmas card photo my family has from Yuen Lui.

Every late summer or early fall growing up, my mom would dress my brother and me in coordinating outfits and take us to a place called Yuen Lui. It was in a strip mall across the street from the big shopping mall in our area and had a big carpeted lobby and large windows with sheer black roller shades that made it hard to see in when you walked by. The left side of the room had velvet gem-tone chairs and life-size portraits of strangers in gold frames on the wall, like some sort of modern palace. On the right side were two desks, each with a large computer monitor and a set of chairs. It didn’t look like a photography studio, not until you walked down the narrow hallway past the front desk and entered one of the white doors. Behind these doors were industrial rooms with high ceilings and exposed HVAC. At the far end were floor-to-ceiling backdrops like gigantic rolls of wrapping paper hanging from the ceiling. On the walls were dozens of props, from feather boas and strands of bright, gauzy fabric, to bistro chairs and barstools. There was a square of hardwood in front of the back wall that was lit from above like a stage.

I’m probably 5 or so here, and my brother is probably 3ish. Even though I got stuck with a dress while he got to wear a sweatshirt, I remember liking the Scottie dog pattern (and thinking it was funny since our last name is Scott lol).

It was fun to be in one of those rooms. The photographer always had a big camera and an even bigger smile. They’d tell you where to sit, how to stand, when to tilt your chin. The overhead lights would shine and the camera would flash, making you feel like a movie star. But getting the photos taken was the only fun part. The rest of the time was spent waiting in the lobby either for the photographer to be ready to take you to the studio, or for your parents to approve the proofs on the computer screen. As I got older, I didn’t mind looking at the proofs and imagining which one would look best as one of the giant framed portraits on the lobby wall. I could easily spot my favorites. My mom, however, agonized over which to choose, analyzing every slight difference. It took forever and made the starched collar or scratchy tule I was wearing grow more and more uncomfortable the longer I was forced to wear it. Eventually, she’d decide or have the assistant print a few take-home options for her to debate and we could leave.

Every year’s photo looked like a slightly different variation than the previous. We’d be in coordinating outfits. We’d be sitting or standing in a curated position. We’d have big smiles on our faces. Our hair might be longer or shorter, we might look slightly older, the backdrop might be blue instead of purple, but they were all pretty much the same photo. I had to hand it to Yuen Lui for their consistency. They had a formula, and they executed it well. Though stiff and staged, the photos were always high quality and are fun record to look back on. (Even the ones where my brother and I look like an engaged couple.)

This whole process of getting dressed up and heading to Yuen Lui was part the annual Christmas card routine. Once we left the studio, the hard part was over – at least for my brother and me. My mom, however, still had to order the prints of the selected photo, as well as the cards, and assemble them. Sometimes we’d help her, sliding each photo – “Watch your fingerprints!” – into the sleeve on the front flap of the card. They were always a thick cream cardstock with a gold foil border around the cutout where the photo peeked through. Once all the photos were in place, my mom would set to work writing a hand-written note in her best cursive, tailored to each recipient.

If this sounds painstaking, it was. It took her weeks. She’d take them with her wherever she went and work on them in her limited spare time, and sometimes she wouldn’t finish before Christmas, for which she’d chide herself. And even after all the cards were written, she’d still have to seal every envelope and put a stamp on it. Or she’d have my dad do it while he watched the news from his brown leather recliner. Most of this happened long after dinner, when I was already up in my room finishing my homework or sleeping. But if I happened to be awake, I would stand at the kitchen island where she worked, trying to help where I could, and wonder why she did this every year. No matter how early in the summer we got the photo taken, the cards would still have to get done under the wire. It was a chore, that much was obvious. And my mother suffered in near-silence, only emitting sighs of exasperation here and there as she worked. I came to see the whole process as excessive, especially after more and more of the cards we received came with a folded piece of printer paper with a generic summary of the family’s year, or were a simple one-sided card with a few photos on the front. I wondered why my mom put herself through this when no one else seemed to be.

But then, years later, I got engaged, and I felt the draw of sending something in the mail and making sure it was perfect. I eagerly sought out photographers for our engagement shoot and considered our various outfit options. (I would finally have professional engagement photos that weren’t with my brother!) Once we took the photos and received the proofs, I analyzed each one with my mother’s eye and picked the best ones. After gathering all the names and addresses, I then spent hours choosing the right engagement announcement design, formatting the photos just so, and ordering the prints. Finally, I addressed each one (at least the ones from “my side” and had my now-husband address the ones from his), applied a stamp, licked the seal, and stuck them in the mailbox, hoping each one made it to its destination.

Whatever zeal I’d had for mailing things soon faded after that. The pandemic hit, and suddenly the future was uncertain. Our wedding was fully planned, but could we still have it? We weren’t sure, so we made the difficult decision to postpone a year to let things settle. With the postponement came another slough of announcements. Luckily, our wedding website vendor was kind enough to grant us actually-save-this-date-instead cards for free. This saved us some money, but again, we had to choose a photo, select the perfect design, and get them printed before addressing, stamping, sealing, and mailing.

As the new year rolled around, the pandemic still posed some uncertainty and the idea of a big wedding became exhausting. Will suggested we elope – an idea I’d hardly considered and never really pictured us doing – and I agreed. It was exactly the right choice for us, but with that choice, came yet another round of announcements. This time, I opted for a simple design, sans photo to save some time (and energy). For the third time, we did the whole rigamarole and got them in the mail.

Eloping was wonderful, and to my surprise, friends and family still bought us gifts even though they hadn’t been able to witness our nuptials. We were so grateful and had the joy of unboxing all of the items in our newly-purchased home. Once everything was put away, there was just one last round of things to mail: thank-you cards. Since our guests couldn’t attend our actual wedding, I waited until we had our wedding photos back to select one for the card and even print a few to include inside for those who I knew would appreciate them. Like my mom, Will and I wrote each note by hand and tailored the message to the recipient and the gift they’d generously given. Finally, we put them in the mail.

Since then (which is now over three years ago), I have not brought myself to mail much of anything. I simply can’t get myself to do it. Sure, I’ve ordered things to be delivered to other people and I’ve brought some Amazon returns to UPS, but nothing I’ve had to stamp and seal myself, and certainly nothing in bulk. Quite frankly, I am tried. Even without a pandemic, I have absolutely no clue how my mom was able to do it for years on end. I have no idea where she got the energy. (Well, that’s not true. She’s a woman, and it’s said that women are able to achieve incredible feats under extreme duress, like lift cars off babies, so…) Every year, I receive Christmas cards from family and friends, nearly all of which are the single-photo, one-sided cards that seem decently manageable, and I am grateful, if not a little guilty. Ever my mother’s daughter, I begin to chide myself for not returning the gesture. But then I remember that between my engagement, my re-save-the-dates, my elopement cards, and my thank-you cards, I have mailed over 400 individual pieces of hand-addressed mail, a bulk of which had hand-written messages.

So, unfortunately for my friends and family, I will not be sending a Christmas card this year. Fortunately for me, I likely won’t be sending any next year either. The memories of Yuen Lui and my wedding are still too fresh.

Yes, I’m pulling the trauma card. And yes, the pun is intended.

Happy holidays!