I’ll admit it. When it comes to Christmas, I’m a little obsessed. Hallmark Christmas movies have always taken me to my holiday happy place. Peppermint anything is my drug of choice. And when I hear David Bowie and Bing Crosby singing “Little Drummer Boy,” I border on the verge of orgasmic. Clearly, I have issues.
Then it happens—it comes time for this momma to play Santa. And when you love Christmas like I love Christmas, getting to be Santa Claus is the absolute highlight of your year! When my kids finally begin to unearth the invariable toy store within my living room, I do what so many other parents do… I grab my trusty iPhone and snap away.
Then I post my pics on social media.
Related: “When Facebookers Attack”
And just like that—the “Santa Shame Games” commence. Friends begin to comment on Santa’s visibly “generous” delivery, and the passive–aggressive holiday haters emerge. Their sole purpose? To replace my Christmas Eve afterglow with feelings of guilt for the slew of presents I bought my kids under the alias of “Santa.”
Wow! Think Santa got your kids enough? LOL!
So much for the true meaning of Christmas. JK.
Geez, did Santa have to go back to the North Pole and reload?
And my personal favorite:
What am I supposed to tell (insert kid’s name here) when he asks
why Santa didn’t bring him as much?
Well, I’m over it! Why should I have to apologize for spoiling my kids once a year at Christmas? Listen up, “Santa Shamers”—you’re not taking the jingle out of this mom’s bells! Pour yourself another glass of eggnog while we get a few things straight:
1) My kids do know the true meaning of Christmas.
News flash! Even Jesus got presents. Do the Three Kings ring any bells? Those dudes brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh to an infant wrapped in rags. What the hell was Jesus going to do with that crap anyway?
Rest assured, in our house, we keep “Christ” in “Christmas” (and not just because we own a Little People nativity set). Ask my two-year-old why we celebrate the holiday and she will happily scream: “Because it’s Jesus’ birthday!” If you truly believe that “Jesus is the reason for the season,” then why the hell are you so preoccupied with what I’m doing?
2) Your gifts aren’t necessary. No, really.
Are thoughts of my kids being overindulged keeping you from that “long winter’s nap”? If you already know that Santa tends to go a bit overboard at my house, go ahead and scratch my kids off your list. Seriously. Just because it’s Christmas, you’re under no obligation to buy my kids presents, even if we’ve already given you something. Save your money. Keep that gift card. Forget the savings bonds (nobody wants that shit anyway). Take your good intentions and buy something for someone who truly needs it. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got this gift-giving thing on lock.
Still feel obligated to get my family a Christmas gift? How about not criticizing my parenting skills based on what I do one day out of the entire year?
3) I’m not responsible for your child’s Santa experience.
Let’s cut the reindeer games, shall we? No offense, but your kids’ feelings don’t dictate my holiday planning. I run the Santa show in my house. I don’t care what part of the country you live in; children are always going to encounter people that have more or less than they do. My kids got more. So what? I’m friends with you on social media (for now), not your kids.
If you think showing pictures of my Christmas morning extravaganza to your children will result in them needing therapy for Santa abandonment issues, then don’t show them! Bottom line… if I want to give my kid an iPad or a pony-unicorn hybrid and post it on Instagram, that’s my business. Ain’t no shame in my Santa game.
4) Santa’s magic has an expiration date.
Think about it. How many Christmases do we actually get with our kids before some little asshole drops the bomb that the whole Santa thing is bullshit? Eight? Ten, if we’re lucky? How long before my precious little girls stop asking for that Barbie dream house and realize that cash is king? Holiday magic slowly evaporates. Eventually, kids stop believing. Until that happens, this mother fully intends to make every Christmas count, and I’m okay with that.