Monthly Archives: December 2016

Dear Virginia, where the hell is Santa Claus?

There’s a famous (at least for me) story from my childhood where I looked at my mom one day and just bluntly said “Santa Claus isn’t real, is he?”

“No, he’s not, sweetie,” my mom replied.

And that was that.

But the famous (infamous) part came next. Because I went to school the following day and felt it was my duty to kindly inform several of my fellow 2nd grade peers of this breaking news.

Surprisingly, this did not help my popularity.

And now all these years later, the joke is on me. Oh, karma, you wily minx. Little did I know that in my 30’s I’d still be dealing with the whole “does Santa exist?” question. Because I’m a mom now and I gotta tell you, I can’t find that bastard anywhere.

But let’s start at the beginning.

My son’s first Christmas, when he couldn’t have cared less (since his only interests back then were my boobs and old, gross, fast food receipts) we were lucky enough to randomly run into a Santa while out and about in early December. So we plopped our son down and took a million photos as you are legally required to do. Easy peasy. And they are photos we cherish to this day even despite the fact that both my baby and Santa look like they’re being held at gunpoint.

So, naturally, I just assumed that was how it worked. Last year, I figured we’d run into another one while out shopping or looking for a restaurant that sold spaghetti tacos (did I mention I was pregnant again?). We never did. Luckily, my son was still young enough that it didn’t really matter and I didn’t really care about anything except spaghetti tacos and not puking on random strangers whenever I left the house.

But this year, oh, this year, I came prepared. He’s almost three. And this is his sister’s first Christmas. Time to stop phoning it in as a parent. So, starting the day after Thanksgiving I started Googling where and when Santa would be. I was leaving nothing to chance.

Imagine my surprise then, when two Sundays ago, we went to meet Santa and he wasn’t there. Apparently “Santa will be taking photos until 5 p.m.” meant if you showed up at 4:30 p.m. he’d be gone on what I can only assume was a very important Santa emergency involving happy hour eggnog shots. Luckily, people working the event were super helpful and reassured us that they had “no idea where he was or if he’d be back.”

I was mad, sure. The Momma Bear in me wanted to start mauling people with my festive Santa hat. But I managed to keep my calm. We still had one more weekend before Christmas and my toddler got chocolate as a consolation prize, so crisis averted.

Still, again, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. I checked, then double checked, then triple checked when and where Santa would be this past Saturday.

7 p.m.

No less than three local event calendars said 7 p.m.

Santa would be hanging out in this particular location until 7 p.m.

Looking back, I should have known better. It was the same location that Santa had abandoned to go on a bender the weekend before. But, silly me, I thought if we showed up three hours before closing time, he’d be there.

Ha!

He wasn’t.

Needless to say, I was frothing at the mouth at this point. And again, the helpful people working the event assured us that “um…I don’t know, man.”

So, again, my son got chocolate as a consolation prize. But I am running out of time and one more no-show by Santa is likely to give my toddler diabetes.

I need some chubby, red jerkface to sit on his ass and interact with my freaking children before I lose it. I need a photo of my baby girl screaming on his lap and one of my son doing that weird toddler smile where it looks like they forgot how to smile. It’s Christmas. Why the hell can’t I find a Santa? Why is this so hard? WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED FOR A MISTAKE I MADE WHEN I WAS SEVEN?!?

Sigh. This is a good lesson for you kids though. Apparently once you’re on the naughty list, you stay on that naughty list. Santa does not forgive nor forget.

Well played, fat man. Well played.

 

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What parents really want for Christmas

Christmas is great, isn’t it? Magical when you’re a kid. A celebration of the beautiful life and beautiful lives you’ve created when you’re a grandparent.

And a red and green tinged tsunami that destroys your home, your finances and your sanity when you’re a parent.

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Ah, yes, ‘tis truly the most wonderful time of the year.

Of course, don’t get me wrong. I still love Christmas. The endless excuses to drink booze alone is enough to make any self-respecting writer love this holiday.

I just hate that I’m the one in charge of making it happen now. The decorating, the cooking, the gift buying, the logistics of holiday travel…sigh. And no matter how much I bribe my toddler, he refuses to take over the responsibility.

Is it any wonder that this time of year turns all of us parents into stressful balls of burning rage?

So, with that in mind, I decided to create a list of what we adults of the parental persuasion really want for Christmas this year. Because, sure, another sweater is nice, but the ability to go into a store without any meltdowns over a 99 cent candy bar is the gift that keeps on giving.

And so…ahem…

Number one with a bullet: A nap.

Number two with a tomahawk: Another nap.

The ability to wrap presents without a dog or cat lying on the wrapping paper.

The ability to wrap presents without losing the scissors every 30 seconds. Ditto the tape. And that stupid pen. IT WAS JUST HERE.

To lose 10 pounds every holiday season while still eating an entire cheeseball on the couch as you watch “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” for the fifth time.

A working eggnog fountain (with extra bourbon) in the kitchen.

Pets and small children who consistently admire the Christmas tree from a three foot buffer zone.

Mandatory shock collars for people who whine about the war on Christmas and Starbucks holiday cups.

Actual snow on Christmas. And then we just fast forward to the month of April.

That your child forgets that VERY BAD WORD they think is hilarious to shout in public.

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No lines. None. Not to buy gifts, not to see Santa, not to get overpriced holiday-themed lattes in allegedly controversial cups.

Stabbing the Elf on a Shelf in a violent fit of rage and then burning the carcass in a cleansing ceremonial fire without scarring your children for life.

To hear “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” just once without someone pointing out how creepy and rapey it is.

A worldwide shortage of batteries.

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A worldwide surplus of wine.

Not getting further into debt.

Christmas tree lights with anti-tangle technology and a lifetime guarantee for each individual bulb.

Time to read all those books you got last year as presents.

A machine that dresses your children in winter gear so they can go play in the snow while you sip coffee and flip through a magazine.

Bags under your eyes that don’t look like you had to pay the extra airline fee because they’re so heavy.

Socks. (Seriously, I’m out).

More time to cuddle with your kids, less time cleaning up their room and explaining why we don’t take the marker and color all over Momma’s unattended watch when she’s in the other room.

Old school office Christmas parties with free booze and lampshades.

Old school office Christmas bonuses.

World peace or whatever. I guess.

But mostly, a nap.