Regarding yesterday’s post: my mom, aka the Arbiter of Justice, told me I was being “mean”. Because there is nothing worse than a parent shaking her head slowly in utter disappointment at your actions, I feel it is necessary to say this regarding SheepPeople (officially BlackSheep/BlueSheep): the music video is great, the song is great, and the people in it are [put synonym for ‘great’ here]. I’m actually friends with one or two of the band members, depending on your definition of “friend” (my definition is exchanging cat photos and we aren’t on that level yet sadly). I’m a Judgey McJudgerson when it comes to things that smell of hipster pretension, but this isn’t that said the Cat in the Hat. The only thing that really gets my goat (or sheep?) is that the band isn’t part of a secret viral marketing campaign for a mattress company… but I digress. If you haven’t watched it yet, watch BlackSheep/BlueSheep’s holiday music video now.

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Every year, right around Christmas Eve, my mom threatens to not “do” Christmas next year. It usually happens when we are expecting guests and the house is still in a state of disarray. Not Hoarders-level disarray but cluttery and un-Martha-Stewarty. In spite of her threats, Christmas spirit finds a way to permeate our household; the garlands come out, the lights go up, the creepy Santa sculptures are placed hither and thither, and the stockings that play eerily high-pitched Christmas music are hung on the mantle. The animals in our house usually acquire a holiday-themed bow or two. It’s a precarious process but a few scratches and yowls later, they emerge as furry Christmas angels… intent on destroying me and their fashionable accessories. They care nothing for the sanctity of Christmas and only seek to annihilate anything that has string-like parts, appears to be furry and squeaky-toy like, or smells vaguely of cat-nip – aka every Christmas decoration in our house.  This year though, there wasn’t much for our pets to destroy because my mom followed through with her threat and didn’t “do Christmas”. Our home is an empty cave, devoid of Christmas spirit save for my sister hoarding miniature candy canes in her room.

We actually did put up our Christmas tree… a day before Christmas Eve… but still, it’s up! And my mom didn’t have that Christmas-induced crazed look in her eyes when I asked if she was stressed out so maybe not doing Christmas should be our new Christmas tradition.

My dad also threw in the towel this year. He is the one in charge of writing the family Christmas letter and it usually gets a few chuckles out of me and our nearest and dearest. He didn’t “get around to” sending out the letter last year so this year, he recycled last year’s and then put bullet points at the end with small, one-sentence updates that allegedly encompass an entire year. I feel sad because my accomplishments during this year could encompass an entire book but I got a one-sentence blip instead. I’m kind of a big deal, Dad. Get with it.

My brother couldn’t even come home for Christmas because he’s on-call for work. I guess since he didn’t really give up he is exempt from being a Christmas failure. I’m sad he won’t be home to collect my gift to him: two entire cases of beer. 48 beers, each one individually wrapped. Hah, not. They’re still in their cardboard homes. I plan on throwing a bow on top of the cardboard boxes to make it more festive. It is Christmas after all.

Merry Christmas. I got you booze.

Little kids can’t really “give up” on Christmas because it is not in their nature. But my sister pretty much did. And she’s not even old and jaded like the rest of us. Well, maybe she is now. When I asked her what she wanted for Christmas she said, “money,” without even looking up from her tv show. Another Grinch moment happened when I opened a little present on Christmas Eve that turned out to be money. The first thing out of my sister’s mouth: “I NEVER GET MONEY.” I viewed this as a “teachable moment” and tried to tell her about the meaning of Christmas and holiday spirit and she gave me the equivalent of a pre-teen middle finger: rolled eyes.

And then there’s me. I love me a good, strong holiday season. But work has been both a time-suck and a little bit of a joy-suck. It’s hard to feel festive when customers don’t understand how lines work. Or when they insult the displays of food you put up. Or when they are grumpy because they have candy canes stuck up their butts. (I guess I would be grumpy too, if that were the case.)

I finally, finally felt holiday joy yesterday morning  when I tried on new boots. Thinking back on it, it could have just been the boots. I like to think it was holiday spirit taking hold of me and not the thrill of participating in capitalism. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t smell or hear anything because I was so congested, I HAD BOOTS. And also Christmas! Of course. Christmas.

After I got my boots, Christmas spirit/capitalism was running through my veins. Or maybe it was the aspirin kicking in so my headache was less distracting. Whatever. Regardless, I harnessed my newfound holiday joy/freedom from my headache and used it to wrap presents. I imagined each present as an art piece – simple yet elegant – but the execution went terribly wrong and resulted in some truly heinous paper travesties. I cut the paper too short in many instances and had to use a patch of scrap paper to cover up the holes. I’m sure a blind orangutan could wrap better.  But it’s the inside that counts. Or so I’ve been told.

“Yeah… nevermind, I don’t want that present.”

I got my Dad two presents this year: 1) some random car book he wanted and 2) animal hand-puppet temporary tattoos. I’m way more excited about the second one and I think he is too. Seriously, I never have to draw a face on my hand again to make a hand puppet!! I can just temporary-tattoo that sucker right on and use it to talk to customers at my job: “GO AWAY.”

I wasn’t joking.

– Daughter