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

by Jen Mann

  “It’s a game! We saw it on television!” exclaimed Gomer.

  Of course! Television! The cheapest babysitter in the world if you don’t take into account how much shit you have to buy your kids because they saw it in the commercials.

  “When I told you I wanted a Bitty Twin you said it was very expensive,” said Adolpha. “I don’t want Santa to spend so much money. He’s not rich like you and Daddy.” I could feel the anger radiating off the Hubs’ body when she said that. “And then I saw a commercial for Doggie Doo and it’s on sale. So I want that instead.”

  I went to the computer and searched for Doggie Doo. I found a plastic dachshund that eats glowing goop and then shits a neon turd out of a hole in his back end while making farting noises. Adorable. The video made Gomer laugh like a hyena. “Gomer, maybe you should ask Santa for this!” I tried.

  “No, Mom. Stop trying to get me in trouble!”

  When I saw the price I was torn. On one hand, Doggie Doo cost a third of what the Bitty Twin cost. But on the other hand, Adolpha was going to get so many gifts for that stupid baby, and if she didn’t get the doll, her other presents would be a waste.

  “Hmm,” I said, thinking about the adorable denim overall outfit and the Hawaiian flowered swimming trunks my aunt had just bought for the Bitty Twin. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what Santa does.”

  I sent the kids out of the room to play so I could speak to the Hubs.

  “We have a problem,” I said.

  “You mean you have a problem,” the Hubs replied.

  “Come on! I need your help.”

  “Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Just go back to Costco and get another roller coaster. When the first one turns up, we’ll return it.”

  “We can’t. They’re sold out. Apparently it’s the hottest toy of the season and you can’t find one now.”

  “Jen, this is why I hate Santa.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to fight, so I agreed. “Yes, yes, he sucks balls. I get it. However, we need to get Gomer something. I was thinking we could get the Nintendo DS,” I said. “I just saw them at Target yesterday. They had tons of them. I could run there tomorrow.”

  “He’s supposed to be earning that with his report card,” the Hubs said. “Santa can bring it, but he can’t open it until he shows us that he got straight A’s. It can sit on his dresser and he can look at it when he’s working on his homework.”

  “God, you’re an asshole,” I told him. “That is so cruel and depressing. Much like what I imagine your childhood was like. Who does that to a kid?”

  The Hubs shrugged, completely unfazed. “I just think that if we give him the DS now, he won’t have any incentive to get good grades.”

  “We could come up with a different incentive,” I said.

  “No. The DS is working well for him. It’s really motivating him. We might not find anything else that works. I say the DS is off the table.”

  “Then that only leaves the skateboard,” I said sadly. “We’ll need to plan for an ER bill, too, when he breaks his arm.”

  “Wow. Now who’s cruel and depressing? You have such little faith in our children’s abilities.”

  “I just know that neither you nor I are known for our grace or our athletic prowess. The kid is going to break something. I’m praying for an arm, because the skull is a bit more significant.”

  “I’ll go and get the skateboard tonight after the kids are in bed,” the Hubs said.

  “Make sure you get a helmet, a mouth guard, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards, too.”

  “Would you like me to get a feather pillow we can tape to his ass? You realize this is your fault. If you would keep track of where you hide stuff, we wouldn’t even be having this problem. There is a perfectly good toy hidden somewhere in this house.”

  “I know, I know. I suck at organization. I should have kept a list of presents and hiding places. Don’t worry about the money, though. When it turns up I can just return it to Costco. They take back everything.”

  “It’s not the money. It’s the hassle of it all. If you’d let me tell them the truth about Santa, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  I stayed silent. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but he was right. I should have done myself a favor seven years earlier when Gomer was born and just decided we would never pretend there was a Santa. But back then I’d fought the Hubs. “Nooo,” I’d begged him. “I think it will be so much fun to be Santa! One time my mom even hired this guy in a pickup truck to come and see us. He was kind of weird and he picked his nose, but C.B. and I thought it was amazing. I want Gomer to have that kind of magic, too!” Yeah, I should have listened to the Hubs, because Santa and his lies had created so much work and stress for me. Still, there was no way I could let the Hubs know that he was right. “Screw you,” I said. “You’re hilarious. Okay, so Gomer is solved. Now, what are we going to do about Adolpha?”

  “Easy. She gets Doggie Doo. We can order it from Amazon and have it here in two days. Done and done.”

  “But what about my family?” I asked. “They’ve all bought her stuff for her Bitty Twin. It will be really weird to get gifts for a toy you don’t have.”

  “Tell them to take them back.”

  “I can’t! It’s almost Christmas. And besides, the Doggie Doo costs too little.”

  “What?”

  I don’t keep the box totals equal for my kids’ presents (that would be way too much math for my tired brain). So I might have eight things for Gomer and only six for Adolpha, and then I have to add up how much I spent, because even though I don’t keep box totals the same, I do keep the dollar amount equal between the two kids. I know, that’s stupid math, too, but to me it’s easier stupid math. And it’s fairer stupid math. Especially when you have one kid who is smart enough to ask for an eighty-dollar video game and another kid who thinks a new box of crayons is the bomb. I learned this lesson a few years ago when the Hubs’ parents took the kids shopping for their Christmas presents. Gomer and the Hubs picked out some freakishly enormous Lego set, and Adolpha got a Barbie doll.

  “They’re not equal,” I said. “Gomer’s will be more.”

  The Hubs didn’t see this as a problem at all. “Oh no. This is like the Barbie thing, isn’t it? What’s the big deal? They each got one gift.”

  “Yeah, but Adolpha got a five-dollar doll and Gomer got a hundred-dollar Lego set. If your parents were spending a hundred dollars on each kid, you should have helped Adolpha pick out a few more things. Maybe some clothes for Barbie or a car.”

  “But then she’d have more presents,” the Hubs said.

  “No, she’d have a hundred dollars’ worth of stuff, and so would Gomer.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” he replied, shaking his head. “You get one gift. Next time Adolpha needs to just pick something more expensive. Same goes here. Doggie Doo is cheaper.”

  “Yeah, but she picked two things: Bitty Twin and Doggie Doo. I’m getting the doll. She’ll get money from my grandparents and she can use that to buy Doggie Doo.”

  “Jen, you’re going to go to the mall in the Christmas madness to get her a doll she doesn’t even want?”

  “She wants it; she just doesn’t realize it. And she’ll really want it once she sees the matching sleeping bags Ida bought for the twins.”

  “We should just start giving the kids cash,” the Hubs sighed.

  “You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I asked. “Cash is not a gift.”

  “Cash is king. Can you imagine if we gave our kids a hundred bucks apiece and told them they could spend it on anything? They would lose their minds. Plus, their money would go further, because we could go the day after Christmas and hit all the sales. And the best part? We’d get all the credit, not that fat-ass phony Santa.”

  “Sometimes I hate you and your tiny Grinchy heart,” I said.

  “I know,” he replied, hugging me. “That’s why I’m not going to suggest that we all g
o shopping together tomorrow. You go and get their gifts, Mrs. Claus. Make some magic. But this time leave them in the trunk under a blanket.”

  “Don’t let me forget,” I sighed.

  “I won’t,” he said. “My heart might be three sizes too small, but my brain isn’t.”

  Christmas morning Adolpha got her Bitty Twin from Santa and the Hubs and I gave her Doggie Doo. It is truly the most revolting game I’ve ever played, but at least it’s better than Candyland. Santa brought Gomer a skateboard, helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, wrist guards, and a mouth guard. It was June when I found the K’nex roller coaster in the back of the garage buried under a stack of pool towels and shoved behind the Hubs’ bicycle, which he never rides. I still have no memory of putting it there.

  I am as guilty as the next wannabe Overachieving Mom when it comes to the humblebrag Christmas letter. I can’t help it. It’s in my genes. My mother always sent out an annual Christmas letter that required people to read between the lines to really understand what was going on in our house.

  For instance, she’d say things like, Jenni is a junior in high school this year. We’re really enjoying the time she spends with us. We are lucky to have a teenager who likes to hang out with her parents. What this really meant was Jenni is a complete loser without a single friend. We uprooted her and moved her halfway across the country, and now she hates everyone she comes into contact with and we’re paying for the hell that we’ve caused her. We pray every day that she finds a friend, because we can’t believe she actually sits home on her ass with us every Friday night watching The Golden Girls. Please, for the love of God, someone take this girl off our hands. We’ll pay cash. We’d like to go out some weekend and not feel guilty that we left our teenage daughter at home just so we could enjoy a quiet dinner alone.

  Or my mother would write about my brother, C.B. is keeping busy with school and his extracurricular activities. He’s been in a couple of school plays this year, and he attended a dance. What this really meant was C.B. is a straight-A student and a junior member of Mensa. Don’t worry, though, he’s not a geek or anything like that. In fact, C.B. was voted homecoming king this fall and he had the lead in both the school play and the school musical. Oh yeah, I almost forgot—he went to the Junior Olympics with his fencing team. Please don’t mention any of this to Jenni, as we try not to compare our kids with each other and this will just make her feel bad about herself. Thanks.

  After years of being a part of my mother’s letters, I thought I’d never subject my kids to the same humiliation. That is, until I started receiving one from everyone I know.

  Once I saw their letters, I was motivated to write my own. I couldn’t let those bitches brag about their hardworking husbands who just made partner or the crazy amount of money they spent on books for their voracious (toddler-aged) readers. I couldn’t let all those not-so-subtle mentions of new cars and lake houses slip by without a comment. I joined the fray and started writing the humblebrag Christmas letter that I’m sure everyone mocked.

  Actually, I’m giving myself way too much credit. The Hubs and I never had enough to really brag about that would be worthy of a good mocking. Instead, my letters probably just got a small eye roll and were immediately binned. My guess is the only letter that got any attention was the 2002 letter announcing I was finally married. I’m sure my friends said, Finally! What the hell took her so long? We’re on our third kid already. Ohhh, she married a Chinese guy. Do you think it’s true what they say about Chinese guys? (I’ll go ahead and answer that one: no, they’re not all good at math. The Hubs sucks at math.)

  Over the years I’ve made it my mission in life to read every Christmas letter I can find. I’m not sure why I’m drawn to these letters. It’s probably because I’m nosy. I want to know how Uncle Tom’s ingrown toenail surgery went in June (preferably with pictures) or what Gomer’s former preschool teacher is going to name the new puppy she got for her birthday (also with pictures, because everyone loves to look at a puppy they don’t have to clean up after). I also enjoy watching the extremes people will go to in order to humblebrag about nothing. Like the PTA mom who says she was “blessed” to be a room mom this year. No one thinks that’s a blessing. I read all the ones my mother sends out (she’s not allowed to send them unless she first has everyone in the family sign off on their paragraph). I read all the ones she receives. I read all the ones I receive. And since I’ve become known as a bit of a Christmas letter aficionado, I have friends who send me some of the gems they receive.

  So many of these letters are phony bullshit. The worst ones seem to have some common threads:

  Almost always the letter is written in a weird third-person voice. (Joyce is enjoying bunko. Yeah, Joyce, we know you wrote this letter.)

  The family usually has kids. Let’s face it, there isn’t much to brag about if you don’t have kids.

  They live in the suburbs.

  Maybe this is just typical of the letters from people around here, but it seems like each letter is sponsored by brands—or at least it should be. Everyone drops brand names into their letters, whether it’s a car they bought this year or a handbag they received. It’s weird. I hope they’re making money from those touts, otherwise they’re just assholes.

  Mom stays home with all the offspring, but she does a lot more than just laundry and school lunches. She has the “most important job in the world.” Just ask her; she’ll tell you. She’ll also be sure to put in some kind of dig about moms who don’t, can’t, or won’t stay home.

  The kids are always winning awards for some dumb shit: Easton was named Most Sensitive Smile this year by the entire third grade, and our eighth grader, Henley, got first prize in the Tri-State Photo Caption Writing Contest.

  Dad barely gets a mention. He always gets the smallest paragraph—even smaller than the family pet’s. It’s usually something about working hard and never getting a break. Sometimes we hear about a great golf score he had this year or a BBQ contest he won.

  Keeping all of this in mind, I decided to write my own Overachieving Mom Christmas letter. One that was inspired by all the letters I’ve sent and received over the years.

  December 10, 2011

  Dear friends, family, and PTA members,

  Merry CHRISTmas and happy New Year! I cannot even begin to believe that this year is over and we are so close to ushering in yet another one!

  Our wonderful family has been so blessed over the last twelve months! We have been so busy that I’m not even sure where to begin!

  Jim received a sizable bonus from his firm in December so he celebrated by taking Claire on a Carnival cruise to Mexico in January! They hadn’t been anywhere romantic and exotic since their trip to Italy five months ago. It was long overdue! They took full advantage of several excursions, including a sunrise helicopter ride, scuba diving, swimming with dolphins, and snorkeling. After ten days on the ship together, Jim proposed to Claire again! Lucky for him she said yes, because he had already arranged for the captain to officiate at the renewal of their vows so that they could recommit to each other and their family. It was such an amazing and life-affirming day for us both. Claire wore a Monique Lhuillier dress that she bought on board the ship and Jimmy Choo shoes she had luckily thought to pack. Something old, something new—the sea was Claire’s something blue! Jim also had the forethought to hire two photographers to document the occasion. If you follow Claire on Instagram, you can see the photos there. The hashtag is #cheartsj4ever.

  The romance continued when Jim gave Claire a Honda Odyssey Touring Elite for Valentine’s Day. Claire was a bit surprised, since she’d been dropping hints for jewelry and a newer Escalade for months, but it was as if Jim knew something Claire didn’t…

  You guessed it! Claire is pregnant! In June, they got the joyous news that their family is growing yet again.

  After four precious boys, many people are wondering if it will be a girl this time. Jim and Claire have chosen not to find out the sex of the baby until their
gender-reveal party in January. One of Claire’s closest friends is Macy Lawler of Macy Lawler Events (check her out on Twitter) and she has graciously offered to throw them a gender-reveal party. Surely you remember that Macy was the genius behind the gorgeous Potty Party Claire threw last year for Korbin.

  If you’re not familiar with what a gender-reveal party is, then keep reading. It’s a hot new trend where the sex of the baby is revealed at a party in an amazing and adorably cute way to all the guests (including the parents—yes, Jim and Claire won’t know until the big reveal, either).

  They have attended so many gender-reveal parties this year, and Claire wanted hers to be special and unique. Jim wanted it to be nothing like any of their friends’ parties. So many people simply cut into a pink cake or open a box to find blue balloons inside and call that a party. Thankfully, Macy thought these were terrible ideas, too, and she has some fabulous tricks up her sleeve.

  Jim and Claire are inviting three hundred and fifty of their closest friends and family to join them at their favorite beach in Maui. You probably recall this beach from their 1999 letter. This is the beach where Jim proposed (the first time!). If you’ve forgotten the details, you can just go back and reread the 1999 letter or watch the video that was sent that year (if you didn’t save either of those, they’re archived on Claire’s blog). Macy has chosen a neutral baby-themed luau with hula dancers, fire dancers, and surfing lessons. Finally, at dusk a plane will fly overhead and write “Girl” or “Boy” in the sky while pink or blue fireworks explode. It will be spectacular. Macy has been asked to feature this party in a major magazine. We can’t announce yet which one it will be, but let’s just say the magazine owner’s initials are M and S. Once it’s on newsstands, Claire will tweet about it, so make sure you’re following her on Twitter! The hashtag will be #alohablessedbaby.

  Although Claire is battling morning sickness every day, she hasn’t let that slow her down one bit! She continues to volunteer at school (this year she was named PTA president, she’s the room mother for all four boys’ classes, and she’s organizing the school carnival—the school’s biggest fund-raiser); she works tirelessly at the local no-kill dog shelter one day a week, where she grooms and exercises the dogs; she is still taking tennis lessons four days a week with the amazing Alejandro; she attends hot yoga and spin classes twice a week; she is leading a weekly 5:00 A.M. gym boot camp class for pregnant mamas; and she started a couples wine club for the neighborhood just before she found out she was pregnant. Whoops! Don’t worry, she is sipping club soda now!