The Holidays Make My Tinsel Twitch

There are only 35 days until Christmas. Yep. You read that right. If you are anything like me, that number makes you sweat a little and sneak a glance at your clock to see if you could argue with a straight face that it's 5 o'clock somewhere. Especially since the amount of work I have done on Mission Christmas Morning Magic is exactly bupkis/zilch/nada/nixie.

I see Christmas morning differently as a mom. Moms are responsible for the holiday magic, without any magic help whatsoever. Mom is the big kahuna as it pertains to how much Mele will be in the Kalikimaka. It is no longer a time of wonderment and magic. It is a deadline.

Moms have a lot to do on a regular old day, especially when the kids are too little to serve as slave labor. Granted, non-mom-type-people likely don’t know what we do because a lot of it is invisible to everyone else. Ever wonder why there is always toilet paper under the bathroom sink when you need it? How do those ubiquitous juice box straw wrappers find their way from the floor to the garbage? And do you have any idea who empties the trashcan in the garage? Hint: It’s not elves.

But the holidays pile on additional responsibilities for us moms. We shop for gifts for everyone we know. We wrap them up with Pinterest-worthy sustainable paper and handmade bows made from organic silk and unicorn horns. And we deliver said gifts to the recipients, thanking the baby Jesus that they don’t have surge pricing on shipping at the holidays (or do they?).

We also are responsible for the three stages of a party: party planning, party catering, and party cleaning. Even if we are merely party attending, this requires phoning, texting, emailing, and posting desperate status updates to score a babysitter. (Do babysitters have surge pricing, too?)

We bring a covered dish everywhere. I like to keep one in my trunk for emergencies, next to the white elephant gift that I recycle from year to year. Let’s not forget the decorating of the tree, the inside of the house, the outside of the house, and, of course, the cookies.

Does writing out this list make my tinsel twitch? Does a reindeer poop in the woods?

The thing is, I forget the pain of the season with time, like childbirth and high school. In fact, I was excited about the Holidays last year. I switched on the Christmas carols and bought eggnog the day after Thanksgiving. I hummed "It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" strolling the aisles at the grocery store. My cup was full of holiday cheer and it runneth over.

As for all the work involved with the holidays, I had a 3-step plan:

1. Do a little bit every day 
2. Don't overthink it
3. Whenever possible, do less instead of more. 

I worked my 3-step plan. And yet, on December 8th last year, I Googled how to get a marijuana prescription for anxiety.

So how did last holiday season go from the most wonderful time of the year to lawn seats at a Dave Matthews concert? Maybe it’s hormonal. Maybe it’s poor planning. Maybe I got Christmas cocky, and my do a little every day was a little too little every day.

The holidays are a happy time—for everyone else! Behind every merry Christmas, there’s a woman with a frazzled expression and flask hidden in the waist of her yoga pants. And in the flask is all that’s left of her Christmas cheer.

This year will be different. I will embrace my inner Grinch right from the start. I still love Christmas, but in the married-for-25-years way. I see its faults, and I don’t like them, but I can live with them. After all, Christmas comes but once a year.

And thank goodness for that.