Dear Zen Mother,
Every holiday season I am filled with dread. The shopping, the cooking, the relatives – it’s so much to handle. What can I do to minimize the stress?
Eliza from Newburyport
Time alone is your best friend. My advice? Head straight to a quiet little tea house with a good murder mystery and allow yourself to dream that you too could murder people, given the right set of blunt objects. Other than that, please know you are not alone. In fact, I recently came across Mrs. Claus’s diary from a few years ago. It may comfort you to read some of her entries:
November 2 – Dear Diary, today we kicked off the holiday season with political correctness training. As part of our inclusion campaign, we will light Rudolph’s antlers on fire for each night of Hanukkah.
November 8 – Dear Diary, here’s what I want for Christmas: A bathroom I don’t have to share with 400 little elves. I caught them drawing on the mirror with my new Bobbi Brown lipsticks. Next time I catch one of them in my makeup bag, I’m flushing him down the toilet.
November 17 – Dear Diary, the big man just informed me his mother is coming for Christmas dinner. Well that’s just great. He goes flying around the world Ho, Ho, Hoing, leaving me to entertain the old bag. I guess he’s forgotten how she deserted him as an infant so she could live at the canasta table in Atlantic City. I am not playing naughty and nice with him when he gets home.
December 2 – Dear Diary, while the big guy and the elves worked on the sleigh in the garage, the sugar plum fairy and I decided to make cosmos and watch the DVD set of Sex and the City. It was a real hoot until the sugar plum fairy slipped into her glass and got trapped under the lime wedge. Note to self: Choose someone who weighs more than six ounces for a drinking buddy.
December 13 – Dear Diary, I needed a break from all the cooking so I sent Dasher down to Boston Market for some takeout turkey dinners. He threw a hissy fit about the smell of roasting meat lingering in his scarf and called me insensitive. To make up for it, I promised to get his hooves done before the big night. Why is everyone around me so high maintenance?
December 22 – Dear Diary, If one more little brat emails us about the supercharged, superbionic, superexpensive, super toy they want for Christmas, I am going to jump in Santa’s sleigh, fly down to the kid’s house, and stuff him up the chimney.
December 24 – Dear Diary, well, tonight got off to a rough start. The sleigh had trouble lifting off the ground with all the extra coal on board for the Bush Administration, and the big guy left the workshop without his Blackberry and with only half the toys. I told the elves to load up Mrs. Claus’s flying Hummer. According to my GPS system, I could catch him in Vegas before midnight. And guess what? I found him at the canasta table.
December 30 – Dear Diary, another holiday season has come to an end. I put the retirement brochures on the big guy’s chair, just in case. But I know we will be back again next year. Happy New Year to me.