Christmas is great, isn’t it? Magical when you’re a kid. A celebration of the beautiful lives you’ve created when you’re a grandparent.
And a cheery tsunami that destroys your home, your finances and your sanity when you’re a parent.
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 I 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.
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 eat an entire cheeseball on the couch alone as I watch “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” for the fifth time.
Pets and small children who consistently admire the Christmas tree from a three foot buffer zone.
Actual snow on Christmas. And then we just fast forward to the month of April.
That my child forgets that VERY BAD WORD they think is hilarious to shout in public.
No lines. None. Not to buy gifts, not to see Santa, not to get overpriced holiday-themed lattes.
A working eggnog fountain (with extra bourbon) in the kitchen.
A worldwide shortage of batteries.
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 I got last year as presents.
A machine that dresses my children in winter gear so they can go play in the snow while I sip coffee and flip through a magazine.
Socks. (Seriously, I’m out).
More time to cuddle with my 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.
And world peace or whatever. I guess.