Why do I still get my kids dressed in the morning? Because they can’t be trusted to put together anything even resembling a coordinated outfit. Is it that important for them to be coordinated? Probably not, but I must do it. I can’t let them leave the house looking like it’s laundry day every day and there’s nothing left that matches that’s clean.
I mean, it IS laundry day every day, but I don’t need other people knowing that.
Do I physically help them put their clothes on? BE SERIOUS. Of course I don’t. They’re semi-capable of putting on pants without falling over. I am nearby when they get dressed in case they start freaking out about things being impossible to get right-side-out. I don’t have time in the morning to argue that they are more than able to reach into a pair of pants and pull inside out leg out. This means I get to see if clothes are buttoned wrong- something I’d obviously fix, or shirts on backwards- something I’d obviously call out.
Something called to me Thursday morning. It was out of place but not so out of place that people might notice. Without even thinking, I reached over and tucked Holden’s front pocket back into his pants because it was poking out, and… I don’t know…. why not.
Afterward, I paused for a moment and thought to myself- is that weird? Is what I just did weird? I’d never reach out and do that to someone else, or even tap them on the shoulder and say “excuse me, but your pocket is sticking out” like I would if they had toilet paper hanging out from the top of their pants, or underwear stuck to the back of their shirt by the embarrassing miracle of static cling. But I do these things for my kids because they’re my kids, and the boundaries are pretty fucking fuzzy. Possibly even nonexistent judging by the fact that they walk into the bathroom and take massive shits while I’m in the shower and that comes from a level of comfort not experienced by any other humans on earth outside of family.
Try to remember to check your parental instincts at the door when necessary. And maybe stop checking on your kids so much. Am I talking to myself here? Yeah…. probably.
My oldest child, Holden, has now gotten big enough to the point where when we walk into a restaurant, the hostess either questions whether to give in an adult menu, or just goes ahead and gives him one. This makes me uncomfortable. What makes me more uncomfortable, though, is the fact that to him, it’s not even an option– EVEN THOUGH IT SAYS ON THE MENU “FOR CHILDREN UNDER 12”–according to my child, he’s “too big” for it. He is 10. He is a child. He should get the child’s menu.
In his defense, yes, he is rather large, and he eats more than I do- so a lot of times, I just relent and don’t argue because I know damn well he’s going to inhale the smaller portion and come for mine.
We were out running errands yesterday, and having a hell of a time due to holiday traffic, when we decided to stop and grab a bite to eat. Something small, since we were still going to be out for a while afterward and didn’t want anything to spoil in the car- so no leftovers.
You already know Holden wasn’t even going to entertain the idea of ordering from the kid’s menu. It was already late, and we were hungry, and there was no point in attempting to try to convince him to. After perusing the menu for a couple of minutes, Thomas and I decided to split a burger so we wouldn’t have to worry about leftovers. Holden announces he wants to try something called the “Nashville hot chicken sandwich” because, and I quote, “I’m in the mood for something spicy.”
It’s not like he’s never eaten anything spicy before, but I’m his mom. I know him. And I know he has the tendency to think he can handle spicier foods than he can handle- but WHO AM I TO TELL THIS CHILD WHO IS CLEARLY AN ADULT WHAT HE CAN OR CANNOT EAT? WHATEVER. ORDER IT. YOU DO YOU, GROWN HUMAN.
Once our food finally comes (it took forever), we’re ready to hoover the shit up. It’ll be lucky if we even taste it. Thomas and I split the burger and before even taking a bite, look over to Holden because we are good parents and want to make sure he can ACTUALLY handle the spicy food before we eat ours so, if necessary, we can trade him. He takes a chomp out of it, gives it a moment to settle, and gives us the thumbs up. He’s a grown ass man who can handle his spicy chicken.
Since Thomas and I were sharing our food, which- let’s be honest- the portion wasn’t worth what we paid for it- it was gone pretty damn quick. We look over at Holden, who announces that he is full.
There are approximately 3.5 bites taken out of his sandwich.
Yeah, same child who insists on eating off of the adult menu because the portions on the kid’s menus are always too small. Same child who just swore he was starving and complained through every single errand that we ran before eating because he was wasting away to nothing. Yeah- THAT kid.
Me: It’s too spicy isn’t it?
I tried this sandwich of doom, y’all. It wasn’t that spicy. Barely even tickled the nose.
Remember how when your kids were really little and they’d insist over and over again that they wanted something only to get it and yell at you that they DIDN’T want it, and act like they have no idea where you’d get such an idiotic notion? This is just to let you know that never changes, it just costs you more money the bigger they get.
It’s totally natural to want Christmas to be perfect- especially when you have kids. But sometimes we want it to be special, and perfect, and magical, so badly that we run ourselves into the ground. We run around for weeks, maybe even months, tending to every little detail at all hours of the day and night, and make what should be a merry time of year a miserable time of year. We rack ourselves with stress, guilt, and worry.
I can’t do it anymore. And I don’t want to. I want to enjoy it at least half as much as my children, and that means cutting back, and in doing so, cutting myself some slack.
Every year I tell myself these things. This year, I’m determined to listen.
STOP rearranging the ornaments. Literally no one cares about the placement being perfect except you.
You don’t HAVE to bake the cookies from scratch. Santa doesn’t give a shit if they’re homemade.
Watching UPS tracking will not make the packages arrive any faster.
The presents don’t have to be wrapped perfectly. You could toss the crap in bags and the kids would still be just as grateful.
Naughty or nice, the kids don’t need everything on their lists. They really don’t. They’ll only even play with half of it and the rest will sit collecting dust, so you CAN just pick a few things.
If their hair or clothes get messed up before photos with Santa, it will be alright. Down the line, you’ll even laugh about it.
Traditions are still traditions even if they get “messed up” or missed for a year. AND HELLO? You can always make new ones!
If you burn the turkey, or the brownies, or the pies, or all of it, it’s truly not the end of the world.
If you’re feeling unappreciated, appreciate yourself. You’re awesome. Buy yourself a gift. Merry f’ing Christmas to you from you.
Sit down. Just SIT DOWN. Drink some frothy egg juice or peppermint hot chocolate- whatever tickles your pickle- take a deep breath (not of the liquid, that would be very bad) and relax. You deserve to enjoy this, too. And the less stabby you are, the happier the rest of your family will be- which is a win all around if you ask me.
One question I always ask myself come Christmas season- is bearing the cold really worth going to outdoor events? When it comes to Busch Gardens Christmas Town, the answer is ALWAYS yes. And not just because they have so many warm places to hide from the icy temperatures- but because it’s worth having chilly cheeks.
Every year there’s something new, something magical, something fun. Though I’d be lying if I said we wouldn’t return if they didn’t add something new each year– going to Christmas town is one of my family’s favorite holiday traditions!
What is there new to see this year, you know, outside of the amazing shows, more than 8 million lights, over 1,500 fresh cut Christmas trees, 20,000 ornaments, and 900 window candles and luminaries?
We got to Christmas Town early on Friday afternoon (I highly recommend getting there as soon as the park opens so that you can do all of the activities that don’t require the dark before the crowds show up- the hours are 2-10 on select dates through Jan 1st) and headed straight for Santa’s new workshop. It has been moved inside of Dark Kastle in Germany and I cannot tell you how AMAZING it is. You need to see it for yourself. But I can show you a few pictures (bear with me, my nice camera is broken and my phone, well… it doesn’t always cooperate in taking the best of photos)
The queue starts outside and wraps through the entirety of the inside of Dark Kastle, completely decorated from top to bottom, front to back
The line can get very long, but most of it is inside, and away from the cold. There are lists and crayons your children can use to fill out for Santa before they see him, or to write him a letter.
Presents, trees, and trinkets as far as the eye can see
There’s even a HUGE Santa tracker spanning an entire wall
Once you make it through the decked out halls, it’s time to see the big guy!
Another new addition, and a great way to get out of the cold and re-charge, is the Cookies & Cocoa shop. It’s in the town square near Land of the Dragons (where Santa’s workshop used to be). Here, you can grab 1/4 pound of cookies for about 2.99 (they have a big assortment!), specialty hot cocoa, and they even have cookie decorating kits so your kids can sit down in their heated seating area and decorate Christmas cookies!
Stop in to the Globe Theater in England to catch a showing of Scrooge No More, grab some holiday themed food at either Trappers in New France or the Festhaus in Germany, swing by Holiday Hills (Festa Italia) to see the brand new Rudolph’s Movie Experience- a special 12-minute movie presentation of the classic that immerses you in special effects, holiday scents, and dazzling lights.
By then, it should be dark enough to truly enjoy the lights in the park, and they are always a sight to behold (if you’re not afraid of heights, I highly recommend viewing them from the skyride, or Mach Tower)
Head to the Busch Gardens Williamsburg website for more info about hours, prices, and special events!
How old were you when you stopped believing in Santa? Was it a monumental blow to your childhood? Were you mad at your parents forever? Did it “ruin” Christmas that year?
I can’t remember the exact age, or the exact year, but I know it was early- because I had an asshole older brother who spoiled it for me. I don’t remember being mad, especially not at my parents, but it changed things- forever. It sucked the magic out of Christmas. Instead of going to my Grandma’s house and watching the spectacle of dancing Elves and sitting on Santa’s lap on Christmas Eve, I was immediately employed to BE one of the elves. It was exciting to get to help the younger cousins believe for a little longer, but it was also a bummer.
When I had my own kids, I swore that I’d do my best to make sure no one ruined this magic prematurely for them–especially not each other. I’m a full supporter of letting the magic last for as long as possible, because once it’s gone, you can’t get it back. I will forever hold to that, but…
I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD LAST THIS LONG!
Maybe I was naive in my assumptions of just how long I’d have to keep this ruse going, but I figured by 10 years old, with a kid as perceptive as mine, I wouldn’t still have to be trying so hard. For his little brother, sure! He’s only 8. He still has trouble with the concept of girls not having penises.
Still, 10 years in (9 if you count his first Christmas where all he did was cry and shit his pants), and my obnoxiously-intelligent 10 year old still very easily believes that some random magical elf-man squeezes his ass down the chimney of every boy and girl to deliver them gifts made by tinier elves.
It means every year, I still have to go out of my way to not mention that Santa is… well, he’s me. It means every year I have to buy separate wrapping paper, separate hiding spots just in case the kids find the hiding spot for the gifts from me–EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE ALL FROM ME. It means taking them to sit on Santa’s lap and waiting in the lines and dealing with other snot-nosed kids. It means taking the time to bake cookies we think “Santa” will like, and then putting them all out with milk and trying to make sure the dogs don’t get to them, and then waiting until the kids have gone to bed for long enough to pretend to drink the milk (BECAUSE EW) before dumping it out, but only partially, because Santa never drinks ALL of it, and taking a few very careful bites out of the cookies– which I don’t even want to eat because it’s after 8pm and unlike Santa, cellulite on my ass doesn’t make me jollier. It means sneaking up my creaky ass stairs that are ONLY creaky after I’m sure the kids are sound asleep to sneak out the presents from Santa and carefully place them under the tree in front of the gifts from me because they can’t be under or behind them, that wouldn’t make sense.
I realize that some parents do this for 15 years, and I applaud you. I don’t know how you do it for so long. I’m not a great actor. I’m TIRED. This whole Santa thing is exhausting.
Now, before you click that X button in the top right corner because I sound like an ungrateful whiny Grinch, there’s always a silver lining to the exhausting all the facets of parenthood brings- even stressful Christmas exhaustion.
It’s lovely that he still lives in fear of the naughty list, and it’s great that he isn’t ruining it for his little brother because I’d have to sell him on Craigslist if he did, but his belief means more work for me. It means I get another year of them believing in magic, and the way it lights up their face when they believe Santa has visited, and all the exhausting traditions that go along with it, like cookie making. It means I have an excuse to eat those cookies after 8pm. THE CALORIESSHOULDN’T COUNT IF I’M ROLEPLAYING AS SANTA, OKAY?
It’s one more year of my kids being KIDS- magic believing, Santa loving, gullible little kids.
I guess being Santa isn’t so bad…. though I’m still mad about the calories.
Weird Things you do for your kids but not Strangers goo.gl/fb/oVuwvG
Tis the season! pic.twitter.com/5VgMLnt22E
I am weak pic.twitter.com/LYdRQ6EZcC
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