Here We Go With This Shit... the Santa and Elf Trap

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and while I'm trying to hold true to the culture and boycott Black Friday, I was out in them retail streets today. Just to get some groceries... but I was in them streets! The only difference between yesterday and today is that I can officially get on the "Christmas Season" bandwagon. It's not like I could help it if I tried. The Christmas music is playing, all the sales, and all the decorations are OUT. And looming in my red Christmas storage bin, all the gimmicks are waiting. Especially dude!

I'm not going to tell you all how many times I looked over my shoulder to see if my nosiest child was near, trying to peep this rant.

But I'm talking about dude... and them thangs he got with him. Yes, the jolly, judgmental ass, red velvet wearing man supposedly living in the North Pole, and his little acrobatic sidekick who are apparently too good to just sit on the damn shelf.

Now, don't get me wrong, when the time is right, I LOVE the idea of Christmas. I love the lights, the cozy sweaters, the MUSIC... and the two weeks I get to be on time to work because the kids are out of school, even though they reek chaos on my home. But can we talk about the sheer LABOR involved in maintaining this elaborate lie, that doesn't benefit me.

Aye somebody needs to show me the damn money. I don't get paid for none of this. IN FACT, pockets be empty as hell.

I thought about breaking the truth to the kids this year. As I set it up, my oldest daughter vehemently declared that I better not, as my youngest daughter, bless her hear, is still a believer. Where are all the loudmouth kids at?! I just knew somebody would have ruined this for her. As it is, I have another year to perform the same feats of mental and physical gymnastics:

• The Santa Handwriting: Y'all know what it is. You have to craft a note from Santa, ensuring my cursive looks nothing like the grocery lists scribbles, complete with glitter dust

• The Midnight assembly: Where I'm up until 3 AM on Christmas Eve, sweating over instructions, as I bend in ways I'm too old for to build a dollhouse, or some damn toy that requires a special $26 screwdriver. All for it to be under the tree when these kids finally wake up! I've made progress though, cause them tags say: "From Mom." I need to have some credit to save a piece of my dignity.

• THE MILK AND COOKIES!! Bitch...I don't even LIKE milk... not a little bit. Let alone these cheap ass cookies that I had to buy. Now, if I get around to Insomnia or Crumbl cookie this year MAYBE I'll eat some of the cookies. But I usually, bite them hard ass butter cookies and spit it out.

  
  

Even with my name on the packages, he still gets all the credit!! I'm the one out here in these Amazon streets, wrestling with shipping delays and price gouging, cautiously trying to time gifts to beat mofos trying to steal my packages and prevent my kids from opening the boxes. It's a scam... Santa ain't put shit on this!!

AND THE ELVES!!

We got three of them thangs!! If Santa is the CEO consider the Elves, like a hating ass, terrifying, micromanaging mid-level manager. These mofos be on your back!

I TRIED to be the Pinterest mom and plan my month around and have them do all types of silly and mischievous things. But EVERY YEAR, I do good if I remember to move him two inches to the left in the blinds, I threw his it in the day before, every night. You should see me moving fast, praying the kids didn't notice me hiding them in my robe as I try to move them at the last-minute.

How am I supposed to remember to move these tiny plastic dolls when I'm already struggling to remember to take my Vitamin D or who needs to be where at what time. Wait, did I feed the kids yet?... see what I mean?!

So, why do we do it? Why don't I just put my foot down and say "Kids, fuck Santa... I'm Santa. Ain't no elves... I'm the one who assembled everything"... and don't get me started on the elves. Just put them in the box so we can give it to some other unsuspecting family.

Because Mamas, we know the look.

It's the look on their face when they run to the living room Christmas morning. It's the sheer, unadulterated magic in their eyes when they see all the gifts... but also that ONE impossible gift under the Christmas tree. It's the way they whisper in awe because they are still trying to figure out how this happened right under their noses; cause mom is good... but not THIS good. (WHAT?! Little mofo... I did ALL this shit... you better believe in ME more than you believe in his old fat ass... I digress)

That's all it is. The magic of their childhood. As adults we know that the magic is fleeting. Everyday something jeopardizes those moments, whether it's the heavy hand of time, TikTok, or somebody else's child. It's a brief, precious window where they believe in true selfless wonder. We, as the keepers of that wonder, have to protect it. Even if it means threatening a phone call to Santa, lining up perfectly good Hershey kisses and blaming the elf of pooping on the counter, or just staying up late, begging them to sleep because "Santa's coming!" and drinking red bull so that we stay up until the job is done,

So, to my fellow tired, bamboozled, middle aged parents like myself... I see you. I feel your pain. I hate the elf too... but we started it. We are sacrificing our sleep and sanity for the sake of their innocent joy. And that my friends, is true love.

But let me go because, I've been here too long and now the kids are starting to come near the computer... and since I have magic to preserve, I can't afford to be caught bashing the heroes of Christmas. Until New Year... Cheers!!