Dear mama—I know being the spirit of Christmas is exhausting
What I’m doing to keep the stress low and the magic abundant.

When did the most wonderful time of the year also become the most stressful time of the year?
I’m going to guess it was around the same time my name changed to “Mom.” Because the holidays aren’t just about me and my husband anymore—they’re about our children. And with that comes responsibility. (And lots of it.) Even as I sit writing this, my to-do list is winking at me out of the corner of my eye. Taunting me, getting longer by the minute. And it’s making me a little bit breathless. The tree is up, the wreath is on the door, Michael Buble is crooning “Santa Baby” from the speaker in the corner, and it’s Christmas! I want to enjoy it! But on top of the usual, not insubstantial business of running our everyday lives (which, incidentally, doesn’t come to a stop this time of year), December brings with it a whole new set of obligations. Order the turkey, organize teacher gifts, collect non-perishables for the charity drive, find/make Christmas concert outfits, pre-buy Secret Santa gifts for the office, get the tree up, plan the menu, get show tickets, think up new and creative things for the Elf to do, wrap approximately 1,343 gifts before Christmas Eve, bake All Of The Things, not completely lose your mind, and so on. And—oh!—don’t forget: make it all magical. ✨ Around Christmas time my brain feels like my childhood imaginings of Santa’s Workshop: elves working overtime and machines whirring frantically—so much crashing and banging it’s hard to think straight. My own mother did it for many years, never letting on how much hard work it was to produce the holiday traditions and memories that would live on in the hearts of her children. And now it’s my turn. I just wish someone had told me how hard it is. How demanding it can be. Except maybe I don’t wish that. Maybe I’m grateful for all those years of blissful ignorance, when the magic of Christmas just happened before my eyes. Because of it, Christmas in my mind is a time of wonder. A time of believing in the good, caring about others and expecting the impossible. It really is the most wonderful time of the year. And because of that, I know what I want it to feel like for my children: exactly the same. But I do have to stop and ask myself—does the magic have to come to an end for me just because I’m the one making it happen? Or am I entitled to a little sprinkling of that magic as well? I like to think I am.
I’m going to guess it was around the same time my name changed to “Mom.” Because the holidays aren’t just about me and my husband anymore—they’re about our children. And with that comes responsibility. (And lots of it.) Even as I sit writing this, my to-do list is winking at me out of the corner of my eye. Taunting me, getting longer by the minute. And it’s making me a little bit breathless. The tree is up, the wreath is on the door, Michael Buble is crooning “Santa Baby” from the speaker in the corner, and it’s Christmas! I want to enjoy it! But on top of the usual, not insubstantial business of running our everyday lives (which, incidentally, doesn’t come to a stop this time of year), December brings with it a whole new set of obligations. Order the turkey, organize teacher gifts, collect non-perishables for the charity drive, find/make Christmas concert outfits, pre-buy Secret Santa gifts for the office, get the tree up, plan the menu, get show tickets, think up new and creative things for the Elf to do, wrap approximately 1,343 gifts before Christmas Eve, bake All Of The Things, not completely lose your mind, and so on. And—oh!—don’t forget: make it all magical. ✨ Around Christmas time my brain feels like my childhood imaginings of Santa’s Workshop: elves working overtime and machines whirring frantically—so much crashing and banging it’s hard to think straight. My own mother did it for many years, never letting on how much hard work it was to produce the holiday traditions and memories that would live on in the hearts of her children. And now it’s my turn. I just wish someone had told me how hard it is. How demanding it can be. Except maybe I don’t wish that. Maybe I’m grateful for all those years of blissful ignorance, when the magic of Christmas just happened before my eyes. Because of it, Christmas in my mind is a time of wonder. A time of believing in the good, caring about others and expecting the impossible. It really is the most wonderful time of the year. And because of that, I know what I want it to feel like for my children: exactly the same. But I do have to stop and ask myself—does the magic have to come to an end for me just because I’m the one making it happen? Or am I entitled to a little sprinkling of that magic as well? I like to think I am.