Ready, set, CHRISTMAS!

Tis the season to celebrate whichever holiday you wish, but in my house, Christmas reflects our personal beliefs. It is a time of reflection and the counting of blessings, not to mention a little gift dispersion to the family.

Though decorated trees have nothing historically to do with the true meaning of Christmas, the fragrance of murdered evergreen helps mask the odor of our 30-year old carpet. Also, the lights and ornaments are a pretty addition to our drab décor.

A few years ago, my mom gave me a box filled with a bunch of ornaments I had made as a child. She’d saved them all. Every single one of them.

My first internal thought was, “No, no, no! I made these for you! To keep forever!” I certainly didn’t plan on getting them back one day and, if I had, I would’ve done a better job on them in the first place. I’m not super sentimental about stuff like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out either.

One ornament I particularly can’t stand is an egg that was carefully emptied of its contents and glued over with tissue paper confetti in the ugliest colors of neon green and yellow. I seriously want to toss it in the garbage, but she stored an emptied egg shell in perfect condition for thirty years! How can I so blatantly disrespect that level of commitment?

One Christmas “tradition” I’ve never fully embraced is the whole Santa Claus production (spoiler alert to any parent who doesn’t want me to ruin this for their child). I’m not violently opposed to Santa and I know the story is sweet one and Saint Nicholas was a really great guy, but I think it distracts from the real meaning of Christmas.

I believed in Santa until I was in the third grade which has to be some kind of record for gullibility. I even convinced another little girl who had the sense to see through the ruse to believe again. Talk about having egg on your face in the fourth grade! Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure that’s the same year I made that horrid egg ornament.

Back to Santa: parents say that Santa and his cohorts (the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy) give children a sense of imagination and belief in magic. My daughter plays teacher to her stuffed animals and makes her Barbies argue about who is going to drive the stylish, pink sports car while my son takes his Nerf gun and belly-crawls in the backyard to sneak up on unsuspecting terrorists. My kids aren’t lacking in imagination.

My sister is way more fun than me. One year, she dropped dog food on the front lawn and sprinkled it with glitter. This was reindeer poop, in case you’re anything like me and couldn’t piece that together in your head. This year, she bought the “Elf on the Shelf” which is a creepy stalker from the North Pole who reports to Santa on your child’s behavior, but also gets up to some mischief of his own (i.e. moving from shelf to shelf).

If someone is going to tell an imaginary man that my children have been rotten, I want it to come from me. I’m too much of a control freak to let some fake Santa spy do my job. Besides, I don’t want
“Tattle-tale Elf” ratting me out to Santa! Mommy really needs a new blender.