As I got older, I joined the chaos, and although I truly believe in giving kids age-appropriate tasks to prepare them for adulthood, and I’m glad I learned my mom’s gingerbread recipe, the most important lesson from those years was this: I’m definitely not doing this.
I’m not saying it’s not nicer to relax and celebrate in a clean, tidy home—and if I have a few days off, I enjoy tidying up a bit, just like any other weekend. But I follow a golden rule: if someone would wrinkle their nose at finding a dust bunny under the couch, they probably don’t love us enough to deserve an invite for Christmas.
Whether it’s a picky aunt, a critical mother-in-law, or a grumpy grandpa who can’t enjoy the holiday but only finds faults, if we must, we’ll take a stroll at the Christmas market—but they won’t get any closer to our celebration.
Our holiday won’t be about waking up with a stomach ache because I’m already late: the dough for the sweet bread should have been kneaded to rise, I forgot to buy walnuts for the gingerbread topping, and even though I cleaned the bathroom spotless yesterday, by the time everyone’s ready, it’ll look like someone actually USED it. And it’s not essential that the house looks like a museum when guests arrive, with no sign that people live here.
Forget that nonsense!
This Christmas, I’m doing something revolutionary, something maybe no woman in this country has dared to try during the holidays: I’m going to enjoy myself!
I’ll be lying on the floor playing "Guess Who?" with my daughter, baking gingerbread just because we love it. We’ll invite those we truly enjoy spending time with, and I’ll sit next to them on the couch to soak up their company.
If we didn’t burn the gingerbread, I’ll offer some to our guests, but I might even serve store-bought treats. We’ll laugh about the crooked tree, maybe shed a few tears when they notice the ornament from grandpa, sing a song he taught us, and maybe even order a pizza.
This Christmas, we’re rewriting the rules: traditions that bring joy, bring us closer, and strengthen our bonds will stay. But any custom that locks moms and daughters in the kitchen, divides the family into rooms, or steals the time to watch a child marvel at sparklers or share a long, warm kiss under Christmas lights—those traditions will become ghosts of last Christmas. I can’t wait for this holiday.
