Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat

by Jen Mann

  Kori: So annoying!

  Jillian: Brick’s boss was offended because you said “Merry Christmas” and gave him a gift with Baby Jesus on the wrapping paper?

  Whit: Yup.

  Jillian: Ugh. This war-on-Christmas thing has got to stop. You should be offended that he’s not throwing a Christmas party for the office.

  Whit: That’s what I said! But this is Brick’s boss and I can’t have him lose his job over my hurt feelings. I have to be the bigger person.

  Kori: You’re so strong, Whit.

  Jillian: That’s true, but it’s like religious discrimination.

  Whit: I know. But what can we do?

  Kori: Well, I love your systems, Whit. I think these are great ideas! I’ll try anything to make my life easier this time of year.

  Jillian: This year I hired a designer to decorate the house for me. It felt great to take that off my plate, and my house looks ah-may-zing. It looks so good I could charge admission. All of my neighbors are totally jealous.

  Kori: Oh, I don’t know about that. I could never have someone else decorate my house. It’s family tradition to decorate together. It’s one of our favorite things to do.

  Jillian: Well, I think from here on out my family tradition will be to hire Kris Kringle Kreations.

  Whit: You should ask them to do your Christmas cards, too, Jillian.

  Jillian: Excuse me? What do you mean, Whit?

  Whit: Don’t be offended or anything, but the quality of your cards has really gone downhill in recent years. Just sayin’.

  Ooh, shit just got real. She said “just sayin’.” Everyone knows that’s the “fuck you” of the suburbs. The holiday tension must really be getting to these ladies. Their passive-aggressive put-downs just jumped to Defcon 1.

  Jillian: Is that true, Kori?

  Kori: Well, since Whit mentioned it, I’ll add my two cents. It’s just my opinion, for what it’s worth, but it does nothing for me when I receive a cheesy photo card from Costco.

  Whit: Don’t get me wrong, I like to receive a family photo, but I like it inside a nice, heavy card, and preferably with a letter attached.

  Kori: Oh yes! The letters are the best! I love writing my letter. I work on it all year long. You haven’t done a letter in a long time, Jillian.

  Jillian: Well, I’m very active on Facebook and Instagram. My friends read all of my status updates. I think it’s weird to send out a letter telling my friends and family news they have already read online. That’s so boring. I get your letter, Kori, and I’m all, “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

  Whit: Oh yeah? Well, did you know that Kori got Botox?

  Kori: Whit!

  Jillian: You did, Kori?

  Kori: Yes. It was an early Christmas present from Phil.

  Whit: Do you think it’s strange how much he likes to give you cosmetic procedures as gifts?

  Kori: Not at all. I’m glad that he wants me to look my best and that he’s willing to spare no expense to help me achieve that.

  Jillian: Botox! Of course! That’s what is different about you!

  Kori: I didn’t put it on Facebook. How did you know, Whit?

  Whit: Easy. You can’t furrow your brow anymore!

  Kori: No, I can’t. Not at all.

  Whit: I’m assuming Phil didn’t make you use a Groupon?

  Kori: I convinced him that when you’re putting a paralyzing poison in your face, you should spring for the good stuff.

  Whit: Smart.

  Kori: So what do you guys think?

  Jillian: It looks really fine. I just would never do it because I’m in sales and I need to be able to move my face. It would look untrustworthy if my forehead were immobilized.

  Whit: Yeah, it’s good for you, Kori. I wouldn’t do it myself. I’ve decided to age gracefully rather than fight it every step of the way with needles and knives. I don’t see the need to be so plastic.

  Kori: But your boobs are fake, Whit.

  Whit: That was done before I made my decision not to do any more, Kori. Now I’m done.

  Kori: Oh.

  Jillian: Now see, you should put your Botox news in your Christmas letter.

  Kori: No, I can’t. But I did write about my obsession with oil pulling. Have you tried it? I have so much more energy! It might be what you need to help you get through your to-do list, Whit.

  Ah yes, it wouldn’t be a proper suburban mom chat without someone dropping some new fucked-up health thing she’s trying now. They’ve gone fat-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, and wheat-free, and then they adopted the caveman diet—I mean paleo diet. Now they’re all pulling oil. They literally stick a glob of solid coconut oil that’s the consistency of Crisco in their mouths and swish it through their teeth until it becomes a warm gloppy liquid. They try to do this for twenty minutes without puking. I don’t know the science behind it, but I don’t care, because there is no way in hell I will ever gargle something that closely resembles a mouthful of jizz.

  Whit: Oh, I’ve been oil pulling for three years. Twenty minutes every day. I don’t like to talk about it since it’s so trendy now. It’s almost embarrassing how many people are doing it. My naturopath told me about it long before it was so popular. Or was it my homeopathic doctor? I can’t remember now. Actually, it was my hairdresser.

  Kori: Oh. Well, I’ve only been doing it for a couple of weeks. I’m up to fifteen minutes already.

  Jillian: Must be nice. I don’t have an extra twenty minutes a day for anything. Especially this time of year. It’s hard enough to get ready for my trip plus get my double workouts in and run the kids to all of their extracurricular activities. I guess I could pull oil while I’m waiting for basketball practice or cheerleading or capoeira class to let out!

  Kori: Is Truman doing basketball this season? I haven’t seen you at any of the games.

  Jillian: We moved up to a competitive team.

  Of course. You can’t get away from a group like this without at least one reminding them all that her child is some sort of athletic prodigy.

  Kori: I didn’t realize there was competitive basketball for nine-year-olds.

  Whit: There’s a competitive team for almost any age if you’re willing to pay for it.

  Jillian: Truman was invited. We didn’t even know this team existed. Doreen invited us to join.

  Whit: Speaking of Doreen, have you made your cookies for her cookie exchange tomorrow night?

  Jillian: Of course! Aren’t yours done?

  Whit: Not quite. I’ve still got to make them this afternoon.

  Kori: Are yours gluten free, Jillian?

  Jillian: Definitely. I have a delicious paleo recipe I’m making.

  Kori: Mine are gluten free, too. We’ve been gluten free all year—nothing’s going to change for Christmas.

  Whit: The cookie exchange was tough for me since I’m off sugar now.

  Kori: Oh! That’s right. I forgot.

  Jillian: How could you forget, Kori? It’s all she talks about anymore.

  Kori: True.

  Whit: I’ve decided to add natural sugar back into my diet, so I’m bringing fruit kabobs.

  Jillian: To a cookie exchange?

  Whit: I’m doing Doreen a favor. Last week she answered her door with a cookie in her hand. Who does that? I’ll tell you who: people who binge on cookies, that’s who.

  Jillian: Doreen does look like she’s been packing the cookies away, but still, fruit seems like an odd choice. It’s the one time of year you can go a little wild with the diet. Surely there’s a sugar-free cookie out there?

  Whit: None that I like. The fruit kabobs will be a huge hit. I’m making elves’ heads with grapes and strawberries. I’m sure they will taste better than your wheat-free and dairy-free hockey pucks.

  Jillian: They’re not hockey pucks! They’re chocolate-covered nut krispy treats that I shape like lumps of coal. It’s adorable.

  Whit: It’s disgusting. Last year I heard someone ask Doreen if they were lumps of poop.
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  Jillian: What? Are you serious?

  Kori: I thought they were reindeer poo. I thought it was a funny idea.

  Jillian: That isn’t funny, Kori, that’s revolting. Only someone gross could find that funny.

  Whit: This is just another reason why you need to make a sign that states clearly what your cookie is called. Make sure your lumps of coal are labeled.

  Kori: I still think reindeer poo could be funny.

  Jillian: Well, I don’t! What are you making, Kori?

  Kori: I’m making gluten-free pumpkin snickerdoodles. Everyone loves pumpkin.

  Whit and Jillian: So true!

  Kori: You guys, is that woman staring at us?

  Uh-oh. I’ve been spotted. I quickly grab oversized sunglasses and try to blend in with my surroundings.

  Jillian: Which woman?

  Kori: The one over there wearing giant sunglasses and a knit hat.

  Whit: Oh my God! It’s her again.

  Jillian: Who?

  Whit: The weird pajama woman. Remember, she wore her pajamas to pick up the kids at school and then gave everyone lice?

  Kori: I don’t think her kids ever had lice.

  Whit: Doesn’t matter. She’s so weird. I feel like she’s everywhere we go and always eavesdropping on our conversations.

  Jillian: Oh, I know her. She’s the one who brings those pretzel things to Doreen’s every year and calls them cookies.

  Kori: They’re delicious.

  Whit: They’re not cookies.

  Jillian: Her house is always half lit for Christmas. I told Kris Kringle Kreations they should call her.

  Kori: I heard she’s funny. Kenadee’s mom told me.

  Whit: I highly doubt that.

  Jillian: I’m with you, Whit. She looks like the type of person who would find reindeer poo cookies funny.

  I would, actually.

  I used to think there was nothing worse than the mothers who bragged about their “systems.” It seemed like no matter where I went (or what conversations I eavesdropped on) I heard moms extolling the virtues of their blessed systems. These moms had systems for everything: before school, after school, meal planning, workouts, extracurricular activities, and so on. In my opinion, systems sounded dumb. Most of the ones that I heard about required a ridiculous amount of setup, and I wasn’t convinced there was a lot of savings to be earned in the long run. What I failed to understand is that systems don’t save you time. They save your ass.

  It was a week before Christmas and I was starting to feel the pressure of the clock ticking in the back of my mind. The Big Day was closing in fast and I still had a lot to do. I wasn’t done shopping for our extended family, I needed to bake a shit ton of cookies for cookie exchanges I had no desire to attend, I hadn’t written my humblebrag letter, and my bare “Nice Tree—Don’t Touch” Christmas tree stood in the living room with bins of ornaments stacked around it. I wasn’t worried, though. It’s always like that. I just knew that the pressure meant it was time to kick it up a notch and go into what I like to call “scramble mode.” Scramble mode is when I start digging out all the presents from my numerous hiding places and assessing what I have. I don’t keep track as I’m shopping, because again, I really prefer to do things the hard way. I’m not a fan of hitting the stores in the weeks leading up to Christmas, so I try to buy presents throughout the year as I see them (of course, the Hubs likes this because I tend to buy stuff on clearance). The bad part about buying throughout the year and then stuffing gifts in hiding places around the house is that I forget where I crammed them. I squirrel presents away in various closets, in the attic, in the garage, and in the back room of the basement, and I’ve occasionally hidden a few under a blanket in the trunk of my car. Then, before I know it, it’s a few days before Christmas and I think, Crap. I need to start wrapping presents or else I’m going to be in trouble. The problem is, I usually have no idea where half of my loot is located. Shit. Where did I put them this year? I should have made a treasure map. So I begin hunting. It’s like a scavenger hunt, but without any clues. Sometimes I don’t find everything, and that’s when Christmas almost gets ruined.

  By the time Gomer was seven years old, he was a pro about what he could and could not ask Santa Claus for. He always gave Santa a list to choose from, and that year it was:

  1. Nintendo DS

  2. Skateboard

  3. K’nex roller coaster set

  He showed me the list and told me he was fairly certain Santa would say no to the Nintendo DS, because he was already working toward earning one if he got straight A’s by the end of the year and Santa would not want to interfere with that arrangement. He also thought Santa would say no to the skateboard, because he won’t bring “dangerous” toys. So, assuming he made the Nice List (he’s always worried that there’s a chance he won’t make it), he was confident Santa would bring the K’nex roller coaster.

  I agreed with his logic completely and bought the roller coaster about a month before Christmas. I remembered being in Costco and seeing it. I remembered putting it in my cart. I remembered paying for it. I remembered leaving the store. I didn’t remember a damn thing after that.

  I surrounded myself with the bounty I’d reaped from my nooks and crannies, compiling all my gifts, but it kept bugging me that something was missing. It wasn’t until I saw Gomer’s list for Santa hanging on the Christmas tree that I realized what it was—the roller coaster! I quickly went from scramble mode to panic mode. There isn’t much that will ruin Christmas in my eyes, but my kid not getting something on his Santa list would be extremely fucking traumatic for both him and me.

  I went back through all my sneaky spots. I looked in the trunks of our cars. I looked under beds. I even looked through every closet at my mother’s house. I could not find the roller coaster anywhere.

  I was so frustrated! I knew it was in my house somewhere, but where? Sure, it would turn up over the summer, but that would be too late. I would get out life vests and the bucket of pool toys and I’d find the roller coaster hidden behind them. Or maybe I would find it under the bathroom sink in the guest room. I was positive it was going to be in some random, ridiculous place that would make absolutely no sense. I would find it and the bizarreness of the location would scare me so much that I would seriously wonder if I’d been drunk or high when I hid it.

  I didn’t have a lot of time, and I was at a complete loss. The next day I went back to Costco to buy another one. Of course, they were sold out. I finally confessed to the Hubs that I’d lost Gomer’s Santa gift.

  “This is why I wanted to be truthers,” he said, exasperated. “I wanted to tell them Santa doesn’t exist, but you insisted on the magic! Santa makes so much damn work for us!”

  I don’t insist on much magic, but I do think the kids need to get something off their Santa list. I’m not a total asshole.

  “Well, what are we going to do?” I asked him.

  Just then my mother walked in the front door. She’d taken the kids to see Santa and to get their pictures taken. She’d done this so I could turn the house upside down looking for the roller coaster without any “help” from the kids. We made eye contact and I shook my head slightly: I didn’t find it.

  She sidled up beside me and whispered, “You’ve got more problems. Adolpha changed her mind. I couldn’t hear what she asked Santa for, but I know it wasn’t a Bitty Twin.”

  Adolpha had had one item on her Santa list: a boy American Girl Bitty Twin.

  She already had the girl twin, and she really wanted the boy twin so she could pretend they were her and Gomer.

  I’d been all ready to buy the twin. This’ll be great, I’d thought. I’d put the word out to the extended family that American Girl was on the ticket this year, so they bought clothes and accessories for the doll. It was going to be an American Girl Bitty Twin Christmas. But now my mother was in full-on panic mode, because she’d blown her whole budget on a double stroller for those damn overpriced dolls. Shit!

  �
�Let me know how it goes,” my mother said as she left. “I’ll have to find the receipt.”

  “Hey, Adolpha,” I asked casually, “how was Santa?”

  “Good.”

  “What did you ask him for?”

  “He knows what I want.”

  “Oh, that’s right. A Bitty Twin, right?”

  Adolpha sort of shrugged.

  “Not a Bitty Twin?”

  “Adolpha changed her mind, Mom!” Gomer said. “I told her it was too late. I told her we’re too close to Christmas and Santa can’t switch now.”

  Such a good boy, that Gomer. He always follows the rules. However…“That’s right, Gomer. It is very difficult for Santa if every kid in the world starts changing her mind a week before Christmas. However, it’s not impossible. I was looking at your list earlier today, Gomer, and I was thinking it’s not too late to change your list if you wanted. Maybe you’d prefer to get a new Lego or something?”

  “No way, Mom. I’m not taking any chances. I gave Santa three choices. Any of those will be great. If I start changing my mind a lot and making more work for Santa, he might put me on the Naughty List and not bring me anything!”

  The Hubs rolled his eyes at me.

  “Santa told me you can change your mind, no problem!” Adolpha yelled. “He said I could change my mind whenever I wanted.”

  Oh, did he now? Maybe he forgot that I’m the one working all of his magic!

  “So you did change your mind then, Adolpha?” I asked.

  “Yes. Santa told me to whisper it in his ear and he’d make sure it was under the tree on Christmas morning.”

  Damn you to hell, stupid mall Santa! What is wrong with you? Every good mall Santa knows he needs to say the gift really loud so that we can hear, too.

  “Why don’t you whisper it in my ear too? I’d like to know. Remember, I have to approve all Santa gifts. No live animals, nothing dangerous, that sort of thing.”

  Adolpha sighed heavily and then whispered, “Doggie Doo.”

  “Doggie Doo?” I asked. “What is that?”