So many of us start counting down the weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds until it’s socially appropriate to blast Christmas music and light our fireplaces even though we know full well that living in the South means the temp will NEVER drop below 40 for more than 24 hours.
We ignore that, because living in the South, it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t get that cold… we freeze when it’s 60 degrees and start dusting off our flannels and furry boots with glee and question our closest confidants about when they will start playing their Christmas Pandora station, so we can do it a day later just to feel like we’re not that asshole.
However, more than this important factor in our holiday prep… we have to do all the kid shit. Which is all glorious, of course. I mean, personally speaking, I LIVE for Christmas. I love every single, account emptying, tra-la-la’ing, away in a mangering moment of it! In fact, I was actually ECSTATIC about the Elf on the Shelf.
Was being the operative word here.
It’s a fucking curse. Because every parent THINKS it’ll be all sweet and fun, and it will somehow make our kids behave for 24 days so we don’t start figuring out how to return all the shit we bought them without Amazon charging us.
Forget it man, once you prime, you never go back. (Couldn’t come up with any cute rhymy jig, but I digress.)
After the first 3 days, the newness wears off – for the parent, not the kids – and come the eve of the 4th day, we pour extra wine, because the time change, gained that extra hour so it means more wine, right? right. So we pour it, and we turn on whatever it is we need to catch up on the DVR and we completely forget about (insert Elf name here).
Sizzle. Cori named ours Sizzle. Which if you’re thinking that sounds like a cheap stripper from a small town with daddy issues… you’re right! But, she liked it… we tried about 20 others, we even tried changing it mid-month, but nope. Cori’s memory is like an elephant’s… so Sizzle it is.
And Sizzle pole danced all around our house with such grace and professionalism, I would have paid her, but we were already broke from buying all the presents. Alas, the days began to pass, and we were running out of ideas. Pinterest was failing us, we were failing ourselves. You would think 2 college educated people, one being in the Arts, would have faired better in this, but no.
And really, the kids are still assholes the whole damn time. They wake up all excited and cheerful, and the dick thing they did the day before is fading away because of the extra wine, and we watch their little beady eyes glow as they search the house for Sizzle, and not one God forsaken hour later, they’re screaming because their shoe feels funny, or the right episode of Mickey didn’t come on or, I don’t know… and really it doesn’t matter. The point is…
We will get through this. We have to. And I’d like my next sentence to be, “I’ll tell you how!” I bet YOU were hoping that’s what it would have been too. But, no, my friend, I don’t have the answers. I wish I did. I wish I could make my kids realize that screaming at the top of their lungs at each other over a Moana doll, even though we have 2 that are exactly the same is ridiculous… but, that is a dreamers mentality. And I’m not a dreamer, I’m a realist.
So while my kid loses her entire shit right here because she wants eggs, and I made her eggs, then she didn’t want eggs, but she wants Goldfish because she’s hungry after not eating the lunch her dad made while I was out… I am going to take a long… deep… woo-sah breath because I love my kids, and I want them to have a magical holiday.
Even though I’m convinced that they wholeheartedly wake up every morning with a strategic plan to break me.
Not today kids!
You won’t win today. Want to know why? Because I ate ALL your good Halloween candy. Somehow that makes me feel like I won. Today. Tomorrow I’ll have to think of something else. And sometime in the next week or so, I’ll…I mean Santa is going to start preparing your damn Christmas list and I will have to force myself to recall the 3 days this year you weren’t d-bags and pull from that when we’re typing in that credit card number (because you’re definitely not cool enough for me to actually go to a store) to purchase toys that I’ll be picking up off the floor until next year. When it starts all over again.
So, although I have no advice on how to make our kids love us this holiday season, and however stressful the Elf’ing, and the shopping and the decorating and the baking can be… just remember… we’re getting old. Our minds and memories aren’t what they used to be. So come mid -January… maybe February… we’ll be looking forward to this shit.
Because we are gluttons for punishment. And we will take any excuse to wear flannel and furry boots.