by Jill Smokler
Do dress the kid up in a cute outfit. There will be pictures. A LOT of pictures. If you don’t dress the kid up, there’s a good chance Aunt Sally will magically have “the most adorable” outfit for your baby, which will inevitably require three adults and a Cirque du Soleil performer to put on. Just dress the kid at home.
Don’t keep your baby in that same outfit when it’s time to eat. They will destroy it. That’s what babies do to nice things.
Do give your baby new and different foods. This is probably the only time of year they’re going to have cranberry sauce or sausage, sage, and walnut dressing on their tray. In 365 days, when they’re a full-fledged toddler, they won’t be going anywhere near that stuff.
Don’t plop a steaming pile of mashed potatoes onto your eight-month-old’s high chair tray. Your in-laws will swoop in to save your child, tell you how awful you are for giving him food that’s way too hot, and the whole time your kid will be screaming, “Give me back my taters!” in baby talk.
Do hand off your kid to any and every family member that wants to hold them. Take a break, Mama!
Don’t pass your kid to your sister-in-law and run to the local bar for a shot, a beer, and a couple karaoke renditions of “Christmas Shoes.” You’ll make it through the day. I promise.
Do let your kids help prepare the meal. Younger children will love feeling like a “big kid” when they get to put rolls on a baking sheet or pour chicken broth into the stuffing.
Don’t let your kids set the table. Remember Aunt Sally? She has spent the past three months pinning every table setting she could find and you do not want your kid to be the one that demolishes her perfectly folded origami Christmas tree napkins, which she’s been working on since Halloween.
Do teach your toddler Christmas carols to sing with everyone. Few things are as cute as a kid singing “Jingle Bells.” Especially after a few screwdrivers.
Don’t let your kid sing “Let It Go.” It is not a Christmas song just because there’s snow, and we’re all tired of it the stupid thing. Dear Santa, make it stop.
Do let your baby help open presents. Ripping wrapping paper asunder is one of life’s great joys to a baby. It’s practice for wrecking your house.
Don’t use wrapping paper smattered with glitter. Eating wrapping paper is also one of life’s great joys to a baby, and you really don’t wanna change a diaper that sparkles.
Do pack up the car with all the new gifts shortly after they’re opened. It’s one less thing to worry about, and it’s the last few hours of sanity for you, because, once you get home, it’ll look like Toys “R” Us had a drunken frat party the night before.
Don’t forget your kid’s new toy that lights up, blares music, shakes, rattles, and rolls at Aunt Sally’s. Your kid will scream for days that it’s their favorite and you’re an awful mom for forgetting it, and Aunt Sally will have already packed it away for next year. That’s what happens when your kid cuts down the napkin Christmas trees.
42
STOP CUSSING, IT’S FUCKING CHRISTMAS!
by Harmony Hobbs
The holidays are meant to be a time to gather, sip cozy beverages, and wax nostalgic, right? At least that is what I used to picture when I thought about the holiday season. The scene in my head looked a lot like a J.Crew family that stepped into a Pottery Barn catalog: well-mannered crispness wrapped in merino wool.
Then I became a mom, and my idea of the perfect holiday was shot to shit.
Our holiday reality looks a lot like me slowly turning into Linda Blair’s character from The Exorcist between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even though I WANT to enjoy the season, I am also a mom (meaning I have to deal with presents and wrapping and extra errands and extra food preparation, class parties, and remembering to do things no one else will do), a wife (meaning I would like to look somewhat attractive while doing all of the above, or at least remember to shower), and an overachiever (meaning that even if I manage to do ALL OF THAT, I still feel like I should or could have done more.).
That’s a whole lot for one person to handle without leaning heavily on the bottle.
The pressure we put on ourselves to create the perfect holiday experience for our families is just too much, and I predict if we continue to run ourselves ragged standing in Black Friday lines and stressing over things that don’t matter, we’re going to snap. Just like Mrs. Rose.
My friend’s mother lived her life in a perfectly composed manner, until one Christmas when her oldest daughter was home from college. She had worked very hard to make the house just right, as she did every year. While her three kids were in the living room being brats to one another, she was in the kitchen cooking their holiday meal with a head full of motherly worries, like how they were going to pay tuition that semester. One of the kids slipped up and cursed within earshot, and before they knew what was happening, Mrs. Rose came barreling out of the kitchen and yelled:
“STOP CUSSING!!! IT’S FUCKING CHRISTMAS!!!”
Fucking Christmas, indeed.
My fellow maxed-out moms, it’s time to simplify. Our children can survive and even manage to be happy without an Elf on the Shelf. The pets will not piss the floor if they don’t get a gift on Christmas Day. Your family will be satisfied with the mindful gifts you purchase that are within your budget. The holidays do not have to be perfect in what we create of them . . . the holidays just are. And because I need to be reminded of this probably more than anyone else (see above reference to merino wool), I have written something called The Low Expectations Manifesto.
I will start my holiday right—with a triple espresso or shot of alcohol or whatever crutch that will get me through the day in a good mood.
I will make a budget and stick to it. Children who are already drowning in toys do not need more shit, and adults who are drowning in bills do not need more debt.
I will remember that ungrateful asshole parents produce ungrateful asshole kids. I will not be an asshole on the road or in the stores, because nothing the mall has for sale is worth acting crazy for.
I will remember it’s the thought that counts, and hope others will too—but even if they don’t, I WILL NOT BE AN ASSHOLE.
I will make time for the traditions that matter to me and to my immediate family. I will not overcomplicate my life by trying to keep up with what the other parents on my Facebook news feed are doing.
I will let the little things go . . . or drink more . . . or a combination of both.
And finally, I’ll try to watch my language—after all, it’s fucking Christmas!
43
THE BIG LIE
by Jessica Mayer
Well, it’s that time of year.
Time for peppermint mochas, ubiquitous silver tinsel, and . . .
The Big Lie.
You know, that Big Lie that all Jews tell their kids?
The one about how much BETTER Hanukkah is than Christmas?
Now that my kids are getting older, the Big Lie has gotten more elaborate. Had to. I mean, when they were little it was a matter of simple math: eight nights is better than one. You could even draw it out for them on paper: 8 > 1! End of story! We win!
But now that my kids are well rooted in the age of reason, the Big Lie needs more legs. I mean, how the HELL else does one compete with:
1. The act of bringing a TREE out of nature and into one’s LIVING ROOM, and then turning it into a seven-foot-tall arts-and-crafts project in which the entire family can participate, and then adorning it with an absolutely OBSCENE AMOUNT OF GIFTS?
2. A seemingly endless songbook of holiday tunes, varying from upbeat to nostalgic, that are actually—wait for it—fun to sing?
3. Concurrently airing television specials, cartoons, movies, all of which feature beloved American icons and extol this king of holidays?
4. A twig that hangs from the ceiling and momentarily transforms fri
ends into lovers because no mere mortal can resist its smooch-inducing charms?
And, of course . . .
5. The biggest Big Lie of all time: THE OLD GUY WHO JETS AROUND EARTH WITH HIS FLYING DEER POSSE, DELIVERING FREE PRESENTS TO WELL-BEHAVED CHILDREN THROUGH THEIR CHIMNEYS. Even the skinny metal chimneys. And the no-longer-functioning ones. And the ones that don’t end in fireplaces but are just decorative. You know, now that I think about it, you actually don’t even really need a chimney. He’ll find you anyway. And give you stuff.
The guy who came up with this Santa bit must have REEEALLY hated Jews. I can just picture him now: there he is, huddled over a piece of parchment, sketching out the details of this indomitable character, and chuckling to himself over all the misery he was about to unleash upon the non-Christian population once he unveiled this bearded purveyor of ho-ho-hos upon the world. Well, screw you, dude! That is playing so dirty! And don’t think we Jews didn’t notice: SANTA HAS, LIKE, NOTHING TO DO WITH JESUS CHRIST. OR HIS BIRTHDAY. You must think we’re dumb.
It even occurred to me once that I should try to invoke some anti-Santa for my kids; some much more magical character that would bring Santa to his velveteen-enveloped knees:
“Hey kids! I’m going to tell you the story of Helga the Hanukkah Heroine! She’s the absolute BEST! Wanna know why? Because you don’t even have to be good for her to come visit you! In fact, her operation is not even remotely merit-based! All you have to do is not have a Christmas tree in your house, and you immediately get on her approved list.
“What’s the benefit of being on Helga’s list, you ask? Well, her powers absolutely dwarf those of that crappy old Santa Claus guy. For one: she’s not in her eighties. She’s spry as hell and will be around long after Ol’ Saint Nick bites the big one.
“And two: she’s everywhere, ALL the time. Santa Claus only works on one night, and then he loafs around for an entire year. Helga? This bitch never takes a day off! She’s constantly zooming around, rewarding Jewish kids for any reason or no reason. Find $5 in your gym bag? Thank you, Helga! Got an A on that test you didn’t quite study enough for? Helga’s got your back! Stayed up past midnight playing video games and your parents didn’t catch you? Helga, you are one sneaky little partner in crime! See? She’s always in our midst, making life better for only the Jewish people. How else do you think the Jews got to run Hollywood AND Wall Street? Helga hooked their asses UP!”
But then I thought better of it, because this story MIGHT have approached the line of irresponsible parenting (but definitely did not cross it).
So what do I do instead? Each year I just elaborate on the existing Big Lie. I tell my kids that Hanukkah is better because it allows us to savor each gift instead of steamrolling through the experience. That our holiday is superior because occasionally it comes a whole month before Christmas, meaning we get to enjoy our presents for WAY longer. And that dreidels are like state-sanctioned gambling for kids, and since we play for $100 bills around here, we can just go shop our Christmas envy away. Tomorrow, when everything is on sale.
And when they get too old, and this no longer works?
I will tell them they’re right—they’ve always been right: Hanukkah blows, Christmas rules, and even though it’s painful now, it builds character and bonds Jews and gives us something fun to kvetch about.
Which is what we Jews love most.
Hey, look at that, kids! We win. Again!
44
CHRISTMAS IN THE AGE OF SOCIAL MEDIA: A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE
by Victoria Fedden
1. Early September, arrange photo shoot for family Christmas card. Coordinate matching outfits of khaki pants and white button-ups. Get teeth whitened and hair highlighted. Practice several poses with the family: jumping in the air, sitting in the grass, walking away from the camera while the little ones toddle adorably behind . . .
2. After your mid-September photo shoot, be sure to head over to the mall to admire the Christmas displays in the stores. Then go get a pumpkin spice latte to really get in the holiday spirit, even though it’s eighty degrees out and technically still summer.
3. Go to Costco and purchase several inflatable Santas and snowmen and a herd of light-up wicker reindeer for your front yard. Buy so many lights that your home will look like the Las Vegas strip of Christmas come December.
4. Find out the “must-have” toys this year. Start researching. Make a game plan for Black Friday in the Notes section of your iPhone.
5. The week before Thanksgiving, begin decorating your home for Christmas. Think elaborate. Each child needs a tree in his or her room. Don’t forget that Isabella wants a PINK tree in her room. Ayden would prefer a Jake and the Never Land Pirates Christmas theme in his room.
6. Have an anxiety attack trying to decide between getting a Douglas fir and a Fraser fir. Look for organic, locally sourced Christmas trees from sustainable farms only. Ask the Internet for help.
7. Hire a professional tree decorator to come and string the LED lights on the Fraser fir, which you chose because the Internet said it was the number one pick for Christmas trees seven years running. Worry that the warm white lights you chose are too ’90s and maybe you should have gone retro-chic with the rainbow lights, which might actually be too ’70s, and then wish you’d have gone super-retro and asked if real beeswax candles were available, because how totally Martha would that be? Except fires. No, scrap the candle idea. Go with the warm white.
8. Stage a complicated tree-lighting ceremony for Thanksgiving evening, but make sure you hurry up with the whole Thanksgiving dinner thing because you need to hit the stores. Black Friday actually starts Thursday night now and you want to be first in line to get the five-dollar robotic Olaf doll and, well, every single other piece of Disney’s Frozen merchandise, because you can SO sell the extras on eBay.
9. Admire your holiday photo cards when they arrive via FedEx. The sepia tone looks fantastic. Praise your own good taste. Your family definitely looks like something out of the Pottery Barn catalog. Actually, no. The Restoration Hardware catalog. Sigh with relief that you chose “Happy Holidays” over “Season’s Greetings.” You’d agonized over that for days. Now drop the already addressed, preprinted cards off at the post office and pay $437.29 in postage.
10. Host a holiday cookie exchange. Be sure to remind guests that it is a GRAIN-FREE cookie exchange because you and several other guests are suffering from wheat belly, leaky gut, and possibly Lyme disease (at least according to your acupuncturist, even though you have seriously NEVER gone anywhere near the woods, where deer ticks live).
11. Take the children to gingerbread house–making class, Seasonal Craft Explosion, Reindeer Fest, Santa Days Blitzkrieg, and the Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Christmas/Pagan Winter Solstice Hot Yoga Celebration of Light. You do not want the kids to miss a single event this December. They will not. And every second of it will be digitally documented.
12. Become deeply concerned when you read on Facebook that eggnog lattes contain carcinogens. Virtually sign some sort of online petition about Starbucks and chemicals. Order an eggnog latte anyway, skinny with four Splendas.
13. Plan Christmas dinner. Purchase a set of Spode dinnerware. Order an organic, humanely raised, pastured turkey who was treated so well that he was named Ethan and kept as a pet before being slaughtered (yes, humanely). Then go to Whole Foods and buy a Field Roast because you can’t bear to actually eat Ethan.
14. Plan alternative Christmas dinners for vegan, gluten-free, Paleo guests.
15. Make a hip Christmas playlist on Spotify that combines remixed classics from the ’40s and ’50s with indie covers. Think Dubstep “Rudolph” followed by The Mountain Goats’ version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
16. Burn your arm making homemade cranberry sauce. Jeez, that stuff is like molten lava. Toss the whole pot and use the Trader Joe’s jarred version. Much safer.
; 17. Take some probiotics. Because stress.
18. Attend the children’s December pageant at their Waldorf/Montessori hybrid charter preschool. Post several photos of your daughter dressed as a Kwanzaa candle on Instagram along with a video of your son singing a Hanukkah song in Hebrew even though you are not Jewish and Hanukkah actually ended three weeks earlier. Wish everyone a good month. That can’t offend anyone, right? Enjoy a nice kombucha on tap with the other parents after the show ends.
19. Make homemade, wheat-free, peppermint-scented, red and green play-dough to entertain the children during their school break. Great topic for a blog post.
20. Blind panic when you realize that OH MY GOD, you completely forgot to do Elf on the motherfreaking Shelf. Immediately locate said Elf and pose him on the edge of your toilet with a fishing pole and several marshmallows floating in the toilet bowl. Take a bunch of pictures of him for social media.
21. Check and see how many “likes” and “shares” your Elf pics got.
22. Let the kids watch the classic Christmas specials whenever they want. You have downloaded them all onto their iPads for everyone’s convenience. Isabella and Baylee have seen Charlie Brown seventy-five times. Today. Ayden is singing the Heat Miser song. Totes cute. Make a Vine of it.
23. Explain sadly to the children that no, Heat Miser isn’t real, but global warming is, and no, there will not be a white Christmas this year because it’s seventy degrees out in late December again.
24. On Christmas Eve, arrange professionally wrapped gifts under the upside-down Christmas tree. Set out a plate of date-and-coconut raw energy bars and a glass of cashew milk for Santa. After the kids go to bed stay up until 4:00 a.m. putting all the toys together. Drink wine out of a quart-sized Mason jar. It’s okay, no one can see you. I mean, unless you take a selfie, which maybe might be kind of, like, ironic funny.
