I am mad with power.
I feel just like Ursula the sea witch, but with a Santa hat instead of a crown. Wish I had the technical chops to Photoshop that jaunty red cap in there. Oh well.
Too bad my power — like all the best stuff at Trader Joe’s — is only seasonal. But I’ll take it. For one and one glorious month each year I am in total, complete, absolute, utter charge. Might as well call it Kristenmas because I control Christmas. I shop, I bake, I wrap, I do it alllllllll.
And the kids know it.
(This is the point where you should hear maniacal laughter in your head.)
When they were little, we’d name-drop Mr. Claus. As in, “Oh, Santa does not like it when kids fight. That makes him so sad. Kids who fight always end up on the naughty list and don’t get any presents.”
It worked OK, but I sure hated that the red-suited fat guy who never did any of the heavy lifting ended up with all the credit for a great Christmas. Jerk.
Now that the jig is up, I’m not afraid to wield my authority like a 100-pound sack of toys.
“Wait, what was it that was on your Christmas list? I’m trying to remember… Underwear? I bet if you cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed, it might start coming back to me… If you pick up dog poop right now, I bet I’d for sure remember.”
“You want to try the salted chocolate-chunk shortbread I just pulled out of the oven? OK, well, I guess one might be cool enough — after you clean your room.”
Or, for the kid who has a birthday a mere three days before Christmas, any sassiness or misbehavior can be threatened with the dreaded combo birthday-Christmas gift. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
A few years ago, I bought everyone matching holiday pajamas for the first time. Then last year, I made the family wear them for a holiday photo. Not a peep from any of them.
This year, I am raising the stakes and springing elf pajamas on them that have legging-type pants.
I really, really love Christmas. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some ugly sweaters to shop for….