The Perfect Christmas

I should have called my blog: "Things My Parents Were Right About and Why I Need To Apologize." This post is a much-needed apology to my mom, decades after the fact. Pulling off Christmas is HARD. I'm trying not to panic that my list is getting longer while the countdown is getting shorter. Once again, I have NO clue how my mom pulled off Christmas each year for us. I know that I didn't make it any easier. I had this extremely over-the-top idealistic image of Christmas. I had it all planned: we would get the house all squeaky clean and then put on some Christmas music, make hot chocolate, and decorate the tree in perfect harmony. Then we would head to mass on Christmas Eve, come home and gather round with mugs of red hot apple cider and cookies, and just bask in the Christmas spirit. Awwwwww. I have no clue where I got this. It was like I watched one too many Hallmark movies, but we didn't have cable so I can't blame it on that. While I don't remember specific details, I'm pretty sure that with ten people, it did NOT go like this. Oh, and to add to the stress, yours truly decided for several years to write and direct a little Christmas play that we would present after mass. This lasted about five minutes into rehearsal because--shocking--it's apparently not fun to work with a bossy older sister who is barking out orders and yelling at people to stop ruining Christmas. Yeah, that was me. Sorry, Mom. It's funny because while I know there were tears and fights and utter chaos, Christmas WAS perfect. I have such great memories of Christmas mornings with my family and I SO appreciate everything my parents did to make it magical.

Now as an adult, I realize that "perfect" is hard to come by. For Stinkus's first Christmas, she had a tummy bug and I spent the majority of Christmas Eve Day cleaning projectile vomit from numerous surfaces in our house. In case you're wondering, an Exersaucer has LOTS of little crevices. I made a mad rush to Walmart at 3 pm to finish up some last minute stuff--NOT the time to shop--and Santa got Oreos that year because I didn't have the time or energy to roll out my famous sugar cookies. We can laugh now, but that Christmas will forever be the "How Many Pairs of Pajamas Can We Wear In 24 Hours" Christmas. Moments after putting her down (in Pajamas #1), Stinkus puked PEAS all over herself and her crib. Pajamas #2. The next morning, her diaper exploded all up her back. Pajamas #3. Then Sassy (in Pajamas #4) who was 3 1/2 and had been trained for a while, refused to break from the Santa madness to take a morning tinkle and proceeded to pee her pants in the living room. Pajamas #5. So much for the cute matching jammies. . .Last year there were fewer bodily fluids on Christmas morning, but more tears. Stinkus didn't want any of her presents--just Sassy's.

There is no "perfect." (I wish some friends on Facebook would admit to this but that's another blog. . .) There's everyday life and Christmas Day is no exception. Tonight we're going on a "Christmas Light Hunt" (coined by Sassy a few years ago) and I'm sure there will be fits, tears, and lots of ice cream dripped in the car. And it will be perfect.