My Gift to You

I will not be sending you a Christmas card, handmade bath scrubs, wax candles, holiday letters or chocolate dipped peppermint sticks. I will not be bringing homemade spinach pinwheels and chocolate dipped fruit to your Christmas party. I will not be posting an adorable family photo here or on Facebook. I will not be doing any of these things because "Jesus is the reason for the season" and Jesus wants the truth. The truth is if I duct tape my family long enough for a family portrait I would have a compulsion to photo shop my under eye circles and crop out the princesses 'snot flicking and THAT would be dishonest. If I would ever get my kitchen clean enough to make fuzz free holiday treats I would probably burn them and then spend time unwrapping store bought treats and repackaging them to look homemade and THAT would be dishonest. If I did attempt to write a holiday letter I would be implying that I really think you care and THAT would be dishonest. If you really cared you would already now all my BS and would not need a damn letter. Normally I would say I couldn't come to your Christmas party because I am a neurotic hot mess who rarely leaves her children with nut jobs posing as loving family and friends. That is the honest truth but I also adore my girls and even my hubby no matter how many times I joke about drinking heavily and self medicating. I don't leave them because I really am crazy but I'm crazy about them also. I know one day my girls will grow up and realize that I am a wack job and will run as far and fast as they can. So until they can drive...or reach the deadbolt I plan on spending as much time as we can as a family. However, I can give you the truth. The truth is I wear close toed shoes in Hawaii because my polish is chipped and my ankles are sporting a little leg hair garland to celebrate the season. There is more food on my floor than my table. The only thing I got hubby for Christmas was a vasectomy pamphlet and a subscription to National Geographic and both of those things are kind of for me. What is it about Christmas that makes us work so hard whipping up the perfection? Is it Jesus? Is it that sneaking suspicion that he might peek in on our unembellished lives and think," Wow I went through that whole birth and suffering on the cross thing for this?" Or do we do it to ourselves? Editing and photo shopping our lives to the point that we become perpetual hoop jumpers? This year let's pour some wine from a box and raise our paper cups to a perfectly flawed holiday season. Cheers!