I am a Christmas person. I don't love eggnog, but I love everything else about Christmas. We believe in Santa. And Jesus. The Santa and Jesus combo on the front lawn doesn't bother me ... I'll just put that out there. It makes me laugh but it doesn't bother me.
Starting the day after Thanksgiving, my husband and I have long, involved conversations about where to put the Elf on the Shelf. We have a bazillion Christmas lights on our house ... I'm pretty sure my husband is "that guy" who wants our house to be seen from space.
We have inflatable crap in our front yard, the house smells like the finest bayberry and pine Yankee Candle has to offer. I have Bing Crosby's Christmas playing on a loop and the only reason we don't have Rudolph and Jesus in our front yard is because we didn't get to Walmart early enough on Black Friday ... which is now actually on Thursday, but that's a whole other rant.
I love Christmas. You don't have to.
I hope you celebrate something: Chanukah, Kwanza, and Festivus for the Rest of Us or even just the celebration of a federal holiday that gives you an extra day of paid vacation and snoozy time.
But this year, social media is ruining Christmas. The stuff I'm seeing on Facebook and Twitter is making Ebenezer Scrooge look like Clark W. Griswold.
Here's what I'm talkin' about:
1. The anti-elf mafia
Yes, we get that the elf is a little creepy. Yes, we get that it's one other thing parents have to remember to do on a daily basis in December. Yes, we know there are people out there who think it's unhealthy to make presents contingent on good behavior. There are those cray cray crazy overachieving elf on the shelf mommies who make people like me, who just rotate the elf around the four corners of the living room, look bad.
So freaking what?
It's a doll.
What doll isn't at least slightly creepy? If you don't like the idea of it, don't do it. If you've already introduced the elf and you're tired of it, suck it up buttercup. It involves moving a doll to a different part of your residence for less than 30 consecutive nights ... out of 365 ... and if you forget to move the elf, there are ways to get around that. Your kids will eventually move past the magic of looking for the elf's new spot every morning and you'll miss this time of wonder.
2. The sanctimommy present police
For the record, I am a conservative gift giver. I strongly dislike the commercialism of Christmas. I would say hate, but I reserve that word for really special people who have more money than sense and who have comb-overs. Ahem.
But. BUT. It is not up to me to tear someone else down for how many gifts they give their kids. It is not my business if someone else's family is still opening presents at 7 p.m. on Christmas because they have So. Many. Presents. If someone else can't find their kid because said kid is completely buried under a four-foot mound of paper and ribbon ... well ... I guess all I have to say is good luck with that. You made your cushy little gift wrap bed, now lie in it ... and lure your kids out with some cookies. Just follow the sound of their voices. It'll be okay.
But for real, y'all. How many presents I do (or don't) put under my tree is not your concern. Not your beez. If you take issue with my gift-giving plan, please let me know and I'll cross you off my Christmas card list.
FYI: I haven't sent Christmas cards out since 2013, and they were late. Like February late.
3. The "don't you dare tell my kid Santa ain't real" pitchfork gang
My official position is that I believe in Santa. Santa leaves me a present under the tree every Christmas. I know it's from my husband but I smile and nod for my kids' sake. And for my own. I know I've got a good thing going and my Santa gives some pretty cool presents. I have to sit on his lap and tell him what I really want for Christmas, but that is also another story.
Of course I know the day is coming when my kids will figure out the whole Santa thing. They may come to that conclusion on their own or some first grade asshole might spill the beans.
I cannot control this.
We will march on and continue to enjoy the season and, if my little darlings have any issues with the fact that we lied to them about a fat guy in a red suit sneaking into our house, then ... well, we have good insurance that covers therapy. Boom. Done.
If your kid tells my kid that Santa isn't real, we're still cool. If there's any guilt about this on your part, I'd be happy to give you my address and a list of my favorite beverages.
4. The we don't "do Santa" so no one else should pretend like a jolly old elf brings kids presents kind of buzzkill people that no one likes
"Do Santa?" Please tell me it's not just me and my dirty mind. Ahem.
We straight up lie to our kids about Santa. We do. My husband and I were raised up this way. So were our parents. We're all reasonably healthy, stable adults with no delusions about the ways of the world. There will come a time when our kids figure out that it's mom and dad staying up until 3 a.m., killing two bottles of wine and arguing about how to put together whatever gizmo whizzbang or Melissa and Doug shit that we've decided to give Santa credit for.
If that's not how it works at your house, that's totally okay. I'm not a statistician and I'm completely pulling these numbers out of my holly jolly behind, but I'd venture to guess at least 60 percent of American families "do Santa." If you don't, you don't. No big whoop.
How about this moms and dads out there in social media land? Yes, you.
You do you.
Plan your holidays -- or don't -- based on what works best for your family. Maybe sort of factor into the fact that you don't live in a bubble, but rock on and do your thing. Don't make apologies for doing your thing and don't expect other people to cater to you because your thing is different from their thing.
It's really pretty simple when you look at it like that, right?
This holiday season I hope everyone has lots of cheer, celebrates something and removes the stick from their butt. Is that more doable than world peace?
I say yes.
Jill Robbins is a published author and award-winning writer, speaker and wine snob. She writes regularly on her blog, Ripped Jeans and Bifocals. You can keep up with her on Facebook and Twitter.
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