When I was a kid, I felt no stress: Christmas was my favorite time of year. The season started with shopping for a new dress to wear to church and to holiday functions. Next came the trifecta of pageantry: the church choir concert, the elementary school choir concert and then the church holiday play, which was followed by a cookie exchange and presents for the Sunday school teacher, the choir director and anyone else who guided my soul that year.
The elementary school choir concert was the best, because it featured a real disco ball hung from the rafters of the high school gym. As each grade took our turn standing on the bleachers and belting our hearts out, our eyes would stray to that disco ball. Why? Because we knew what was coming: the culminating moment when the lights would snuff out and the whole combined elementary school would sing "White Christmas" as light danced over the crowd of open-mouthed parents. Maybe they were gaping with wonder at the talent of their offspring. Or maybe they'd fallen asleep after three hours of listening to kids sing while wearing too many clothes in a packed gym. Hard to say.
Things really got good on Christmas Eve, when my family and all my aunts, uncles, cousins, great-aunts, great-uncles and usually the pastor of the church and anyone else who needed a place to celebrate would head over to my grandparents' house, where we'd eat tiny ham sandwiches and oyster stew until it was time to pile into the cars (all my girl cousins and I would ride in our car and sing Christmas carols or hymns).
We'd drive the fifteen minutes to the next small town to attend the Christmas Eve candlelight service, where candles subbed in for a disco ball and Silent Night outshone White Christmas.
Then it was back to my grandparents' house, where we'd gorge on Christmas cookies, brownies and stollen and open a present from Grandma and Grandpa, wrapping our hair in the ribbons and bows. Finally, home and to bed.
All before Christmas day.
Public Domain Image via Pixabay
As a child, zero thought went in to how much extra effort all of that celebration really required from the adults in my life. Now that I'm the adult, I have only one child, and we're down about three holiday concerts from those of my childhood, I don't bake, I don't host, and I'm still exhausted. You feel me?
Why are we so tired? Because in the spirit of the holidays, we add fifteen gillion extra tasks to our month without taking anything away. That is bat-shit crazy. Here are my recommended substitutions for the holiday season.
Holiday Task Substitution List
Are you sending holiday cards? The kind with pictures, you say? That involves finding a picture where no one's eyes are closed and everyone is wearing pants. Also, choosing a card and formatting that shit. Finding money to pay for the cards, the envelopes, and the stamps.
I almost forgot hunting down addresses for everyone you know who has moved, gotten married, gotten divorced or sold everything for RV living since last year. And either hand-addressing all the envelopes or formatting the godforsaken Word/Avery vortex of hell that requires at least twelve practice runs and an entire package of labels to get right.
Substitution: Stop liking things on Facebook. I mean it. No clicking at all, just scrolling. That should give you some time back.
Are you baking holiday cookies, breads or other festive treats? That requires digging up recipes, buying all the ingredients, figuring out viable substitutions for ingredients you still forgot to buy, checking expiration dates on your baking soda, locating your mixer and washing every bowl and spatula you own at least five times each. Plus cleaning the children after they "help."
Substitution: Stop making breakfast or lunch for anyone living with you. Introduce them to the concept of granola bars and school lunches. It'll be over soon.
Do you decorate your house? Who has more than three tubs of holiday decor? Who has tubs organizing smaller tubs? Whose husband has an entire tub dedicated to exterior illumination?
Substitution: For every additional tub over three, you may subtract a load of laundry per week for the month of December.
If you have to buy new underwear, well, hey, we're all making sacrifices here. Double points if you can convince your family that the underwear is actually an early Christmas gift.
Do you host a party or other holiday get-together? Wow, that's a lot of planning, cleaning, grocery shopping, food preparation and general hand-wringing. And then people come over and mess up your house, to boot.
Substitution: Don't clean any private spaces in your home until January 1.
Dust and mop where the people will be and install good locks on the upstairs bedroom and bathroom doors. Nothing to see here, folks. Make one of your holiday gifts a gift certificate for someone else to come deal with your bathrooms right after the new year.
Do you buy presents? That takes money, browsing, opening all the emails from every store you've ever shopped at, shipping costs as well as dealing with wrapping, bows, tape, finding the damn scissors, and the U.S. Postal Service.
Substitution: If you buy presents for more than two people, subtract one day of wearing anything other than yoga pants and a tshirt for each additional person for whom you shopped.
If you work outside the home somewhere this attire is not acceptable, your weekends are looking mighty comfy. In fact, wear the same yoga pants and tshirt the entire time. That way you have less laundry.
Are you overwhelmed by the holidays? What do you give up from your normal life to make room for all the extra tasks?
Rita Arens is the author of the young adult novel THE OBVIOUS GAME & the managing editor of BlogHer.com.
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