'Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season…

‘Tis the Season… to be an emotional wreck.

                I was at one of my Christmas parties.  This one was for the real estate company that I work for, William Raveis in Norwalk.  Here’s the thing you probably don’t know about Realtors- most of us have a sick, hilarious sense of humor.  You kind of have to have a screw loose to be a Realtor.  I knew when I started at this fine establishment six years ago, I had chosen the right place to call home.  As we sat at our wine-infused luncheon (at Noon on a Monday) everyone started to talk about where the “after party” would be held.  I had just finished a set (yes, I perform standup comedy and yes, when asked I will perform at my own Christmas party)and the topic of conversation was whether to meet at a bar or another restaurant.  Our favorite appraiser said to me-
“Anna, where should we go?”- and for the first time in six years, I said that I couldn’t go.  I had promised Hayden that we would go see Christmas lights.  He paused then said “Just go another night”- I laughed.  She remembers everything, and I had promised I would take her tonight.  He then said that children don’t have long term memory until age three.  My girl friend who sat beside me quipped, “you could get hit by a bus and die- then I would marry Paul and move in to your house and she would have never have known you were your mother”.  Now, you may think that’s harsh, but that’s actually the sick, twisted sense of humor that we have.  I laughed and told her to go (beep) off.  And as a good Mommy would do, I missed the night of partying and went and grabbed my child and took her to see the lights.  But all I could think of was that if I died tomorrow, she would never remember me.  I’m not going to lie, I laid in bed all night horrified at this thought.  I tend to become even more of an emotional wreck around the holidays.  ‘Tis the season.

‘Tis the Season… to be amped on Red Bull and Dunkin Donuts coffee.

                I know there are people out there who really enjoy this whole Christmas season.  I applaud them.  I, unfortunately, am not one of them.  Here’s the thing- I feel pressure whenever I have to buy presents for people.  I feel like there’s some sort judgment on whether the gift is thoughtful/appropriate/exciting.  Every year my list grows and grows despite my best efforts to cut people off this list.   This year I bought for a whopping 32 people.  Meaningful presents for 32 people isn’t the best scenario.  I raised the bar too high.  Long ago, I was told that I give great presents and I felt the need to live up to that.  This year I’ve decided that I don’t want to be known for giving cool presents, I want to be known for giving crappy ones.  Despite this revelation, I still needed to buy, wrap, and organize all these gifts.  This past Tuesday, I had a meltdown.  It’s one of those moments when you’re standing in the middle of Hallmark frantically searching the aisles for anything that will be deemed “touching and sweet”- Friggin hell, it’s Hallmark, isn’t that what they’re known for?  Hayden’s running around the store screaming “Frosty the Snowman was a jolly happy hot dog” (again, she has a sick obsession with hot dogs… more on that later), and I’m scanning my list desperately looking for gifts for her preschool teachers.  I went home, Paul walked in the door and I blew up.  I don’t even know what I was yelling about- I knew I had lost control when I had ordered so much online and I had no idea what had arrived and what hadn’t.  I was sent to bed by my husband, and when I awoke Wednesday morning, I doubled up and Red Bull and Dunkin Donuts and I was ready to tackle Christmas and get this crap over with.  ‘Tis the season.

‘Tis the Season… for inappropriate Christmas cards.

                I absolutely refused to spend a ton of money to hire a professional photographer this year.  I had bought one of those high tech camera’s last year and my reasoning was that if I had a good camera, then I would eliminate the need to spend hundreds of dollars every year on professional photography.  Well, there’s a reason why those fine people get paid what they do- They actually know what they’re doing.  I spent a full hour and a half outside with Hayden trying to get her to smile.  She looked adorable, she was all dressed up and the picture perfect model- yet, the simple task to please look at the camera and smile was much too daunting of a task.  That night I sat down to review the 132 pictures I had taken.  There wasn’t one I could use.  Not one.  She was cross eyed in one.  Not looking at the camera in another.  Crying in several.  So, the next morning, I threw her into a regular old dress and tried again.  I was annoyed that I had to do this again and was relieved that  in only fifteen minutes I had snapped a cute picture of her smiling.  I ordered the cards, stamped them and they were sent.  Cross that off the list of Christmas things I hate to do.

                All seemed fine until my Mom said that she heard Hayden’s tushie was in the air on the Christmas card.  I laughed it off.  She was crouched on a rock.  Next call comes in from a good friend of mine who has two boy- she told me that Hayden was a “pin up” and was hanging on the wall next to her son’s bed.  Hmmm.  Then last night, I was at one of my college friends Christmas parties.  Clearly we had all been drinking way too much wine and the giggles were in full swing.  One of my loving sorority sisters said that she had loved the Christmas card.  I laughed and said that I was thankful because I was starting to worry that it was inappropriate.  She told me that she thought I had picked that photo on purpose to be inappropriate.  She then proceeded to grab all the Christmas cards with children on them and lay them out- She asked “Which child will grow up to be the whore?”- She’s an asshole, but I guess I should have reviewed my selection a bit more carefully.  No worries.  I only sent it out to 140 people.   Some people take pictures of their kids doing cute things and put them on their Christmas cards.  I take pictures of my three year old doing Playboy type poses.  Sigh.  ‘Tis the Season to be embarrassed.

‘Tis the Season… for no explanations.

                Why my child is obsessed with hot dogs, I’ll never know.  After waiting a full 90 minutes in line to take a picture with Santa at the mall, she asked him for a hot dog.  I could see his confusion that perhaps he had misheard her- but no, she asked Santa for a hot dog.  She has altered the words of songs so she can reference hot dogs in them. 

We frequently sing songs like “Old McDonald had a hot dog”… or in the theme of Christmas, “Jingle hot dogs”.  When I picked Hayden up from school yesterday, one of the teachers asked why she kept insisting that Santa was bringing her hot dogs for Christmas, so I told her that she had asked for that. .. and no, I would not be wrapping up any hot dogs.  She told me the other day that she had a hot dog in her pants and then cracked up laughing like she had just performed the best set of standup in the history of comedy.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t know where/why this obsession has come from.  Does she eat hot dogs?  Yes.  More than the average kid, I don’t think so.  ‘Tis the season for me to be puzzled.

We’re in the home stretch.  Only a couple more days until everything will return to normal and I can’t wait.  But it’s not all humbug- because let’s be honest, watching the joy in their faces is amazing.  The magic of Christmas really only exists for them- and it’s beautiful.  Plus, the threat of Santa leaving all of her gifts for my nephew has worked swimmingly.  As of December 26^th, the threat of the Easter Bunny not coming will begin.

Merry Christmas! 

It's not that bad, right?