Whew, I made it.
Christmas morning is over and behind me.
I now have another 364 days to keep the pressure-cooker of holidays at bay. I mean seriously, talk about parental pressure. Christmas morning isn't just any holiday in your kids' memory bank - it's the holiday. The Big One. It's a handful of memories that our children will recall for the rest of their lives. They'll either reminisce fondly and tell stories to their grandchildren, or they'll roll their eyes and share their disappointment from years past.
"And that was the year your great-grandma Vanessa added too much Baileys to her coffee on Christmas morning and slept the entire day. We opened our presents in miserable silence. We ate burnt toast for breakfast and your great-uncle Wyatt accidentally shocked himself into unconsciousness while sticking a butter knife into an electrical outlet. Let that be a lesson to you."
All of us as parents want to give our children the best holiday memories. None of us want to contribute any disappointment on this day. Any other day of the year I would shrug my shoulders and tell my kids, "You're disappointed? Welcome to a little thing we call reality."
But not this day.
This day we want our kids to think they're the luckiest kids on earth.
I'm happy to say I'm a semi-reformed MMC. A Manic Mother at Christmas.
Years ago when my kids were babies I drove myself (and I'm sure my former husband) absolutely crazy trying to make sure everything was positively perfect.
I spent weeks planning the theme of our annual Christmas card. If one of the kids scratched their face the day before the portrait session, I would freak the f*** out. I would snap if their smiles weren't perfect, I would hiss if they started to argue. I would narrow my eyes and warn them Santa wasn't going to come if they didn't smile for the camera Right.This.Instant.
Yeah...I'm sure those were joyous memories for the kids.
Then I made sure their custom stockings were positioned just right off the fire place, and the wrapping paper was color coded per child. We spent many Christmas Eves wrapping gifts at the last minute, swearing up and down we would never again wait until the last minute.
To say I drove myself and my family crazy with a desire for a Perfect Christmas would be an understatement.
To say I've learned some valuable lessons about Christmas the last few years is very accurate.
I was getting ready to write another tongue-in-cheek blog about the difficulties of parenthood about a week and a half ago. Then the Connecticut school shootings occurred and I didn't want to blog. It didn't feel right. It felt disrespectful. How could I write about the stress or humor of parenting when there was 26 families who would give their own lives for just one more Christmas morning with the family member they lost?
Shortly after it happened my dad and I had a discussion about gun control.
"Something has to happen," I told him. "We can't have another shooting like this. Why do we have to have so many guns in this country?" Guns make me uncomfortable. I admittedly don't have enough facts about gun control to get into a debate with people. I just know I don't want them around.
"Actually," my dad said, "I'd like you to come to the gun range with me so you become comfortable using a gun."
I looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Why would I need to know how to use a handgun?"
"Because," he said. "If you're ever in the situation that you need to use one, you'll need to know right then and there how everything works."
I begrudgingly agreed. I use the same argument when I tell my children I want them all to learn how to drive a manual transmission. You just never know when they might need to use that skill.
"Also," Dad ventured, raising an eyebrow. "I would feel even better if you got a conceal and carry permit."
Ok. It was official. He had lost his marbles.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "That is never going to happen. If you think I would walk around with a handgun in my purse, you're crazy. I don't even trust myself with a tweezers."
So on this issue we will agree to disagree.
It seems surreal that we're even having this discussion at Christmas.
It makes all the other stresses we have seem petty and insignificant.
Things that would have happened ten years ago that would have sent me into a stressed out tizzy, just make me laugh and shake my head now.
Take the start of our Christmas morning just a few hours ago. My kids, arriving at the pinnacle of their long awaited morning, were as tense and wired as a Republican in an adult book store.
Their lack of sleep combined with their expectations was not a good combination.
As soon as they awoke and gathered around the tree, their bickering started.
"You shut up."
"No YOU shut up."
"Quit POKING ME!"
"That's it!" my dad declared. "Why don't you all go back to bed for an hour until you can behave."
My kids promptly quieted down but furrowed their brows in anger.
There was still too much stress.
My mom and I made the mistake of laughing at a random picture we took of my oldest daughter just moments before, where it just a faceless blur of skin. My daughter thought we were laughing AT her and pretty soon fresh tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.
Oh brother.
Time to do some damage control.
Nothing like giving the green light to start opening presents to assuage the hurt feelings.
As my kids took turns opening their gifts, I felt myself exhale. They were having fun. These were good memories. No one was crying. The yelling had stopped.
I had one holy shit moment when I noticed my son was opening up a gift that didn't belong to him.
"Wait!" I exclaimed, grabbing the package before the contents were revealed. "That one isn't for you. It's for your sister Chloe. It's from Santa."
I handed her the half-opened present and watched her open a tablet. She shrieked with appreciation and I smiled.
Her brother however, was decidedly NOT smiling.
A few minutes later he pulled me into the kitchen. "Mom, I need to talk to you."
"What's up?" I asked him.
"Well," he answered, searching for the right words. "I'm pretty sure that tablet actually belonged to me. Because my sisters all have electronics and I only have a Nintendo 3DS that I got last year. So I really think Santa meant to give me that tablet since I actually did ask for an iPad."
I bent down so I was eye level with him.
"You know, buddy. Parents usually know what Santa is going to bring the kids - they have a good idea. I'm sure Santa brought you something just as nice as that tablet he brought your sister. Let's go back in there and finishing unwrapping presents."
We walked back into the living room and all was right with the world.
It's amazing how learning to live with life's curve balls can change how you deal with things.
Last night I couldn't find where the kids Christmas stockings were. I had looked all over and still had no idea. Rather than freak out and tear the house apart like I would have years ago, I improvised.
I told the kids to bring up one sock.
I found a way to make a custom Christmas stocking that would still allow for Santa to deposit some goodies. Like a female MacGyver, I crafted some just-in-time stockings with mixing bowls, socks and hair clips.
And you know what? The kids didn't mind at all. They just laughed.
So maybe our desire for a "perfect Christmas" isn't even worth striving for after all. It's the imperfections and the last minute accommodations that we remember fondly.
So here's to the parents who made this a good-enough Christmas.
Well done, my friends. We made it.
Now....where's that Baileys?
