Christmas Sucks For Moms….

I try to see the good in life.

Truly, for as much bitching and whining I do, I like to think I am a pretty positive person.  I just mostly like acting like I hate everything because its easier for me than being namaste all the time. It protects me.

One thing I have decided to accept as fact is that Christmas sucks for Mom’s. I know I have touched on this topic before, but I feel the need to do it again.



My Mother is going to hate this.  Mostly because she absolutely hates when I write about her, but also because she is going to take this personal. So please bear/bare with me for a moment while I speak directly to my Mother.


It has taken me many years to finally figure out why you were such a bloody grump all day on December 23rd, then until 5 pm on December 24th and starting at noon on the 25th.  

Christmas is a ton of work.

I appreciate you.

Love your youngest child, that probably ruined all your hopes and dreams of a nice retirement in a cabin on Clear Lake, 


So back to why Christmas sucks for Mom’s, it all comes down to this….


Excuse me while I lose my shit.

We have to help the kids with their Christmas list.  Sure, you can ask Santa for a puppy. It will probably die in his sack, but sure, ask away. 

We have to get them Christmas outfits for their school Christmas concert, for the Christmas card photo, for their piano recital and meet the requirements of the costumes for each event. Green shirt? Sure, let’s see if I can find one at our only big box store and if not, you will have to wear your brothers green Incredible Hulk shirt inside out.

We have to bake for the school Christmas bake sale. But, please don’t bake with peanut butter, wheat or eggs. 

We have to buy, wrap and mail gifts to our parents, the inlaws, the nieces and nephews.  That means I sit on amazon and click random gifts for kids I only see once a year and whose parents don’t even like me.

We have to buy the gifts for our husbands Christmas gift exchange. Yes, he can do it, but he will spend too much or too little or forget all together and then take a box of stuffing out of the pantry like he is giving a donation to the food bank. 

We have to teach the kids that Christmas is not about all the presents, but about giving back to the community, by taking them shopping and purchasing items for the food bank. No honey, people that use the food bank don’t want fresh ginger root. Shit, maybe they do. If so, see if we can go to their house for some fresh pad thai on Christmas Eve. 

We have to take them to get their yearly photo with Santa. “No he won’t hurt you. Just sit. SIT! SIT ON HIS LAP. Sit. S-I-T. Sit. Please sit. Get. On. Santa’s. Lap. Now. NOW. If you don’t sit you won’t get anything for Christmas. Great. Good. Oh you both are so cute. Smile. Smile, kids. Kids, smile!  Smile! HURRY UP AND TAKE THE FUCKING PICTURE!”

We have to remind our husbands to buy us gifts for our stockings because the kids think its weird that Santa fills everyone’s stocking but Mom’s. How hard is it to buy me some god damned chocolates?!

We have to do all the Christmas baking. What do you mean you want nanimo bars? Go fuck yourself.

We have to decorate the house. Yes, that is a box of unused decorations that I want to keep for next year, but I might use those coasters next year. 

We have to clean the house. 3x.

We have to find room in the freezer for the giant turkey. WHY ARE THERE STILL FUDGSICLES IN HERE!!!!!

We have to write, insert family photos and mail the Christmas cards. My hand is sore, my hand writing looks like Daniel Day Lewis’s in My Left Foot.

We have to make sure that the kids get at least one thing from their list to Santa. Honey, I think you should add socks and underwear to your list. TAKE THE PUPPY OFF THE LIST. 

We have to wrap the gifts. Where is the fucking tape? No really. Who took the fucking tape?

We have to organize the calander so that we can fit all the visits in. No, we can’t go to their party on the 22nd because we are going to the neighbours on the 22nd. CAN YOU NOT CHECK WITH ME FIRST?!

We have to buy gift cards for the piano teacher, the school teacher, the dance teacher, the newspaper carrier, the neighbour that watches the house when we are away. I hope you all like $5 Tim Horton gift cards, I am passed the point of caring about being creative.

We have to go to the liquor store and buy 3 cases of beer, 8 bottles of wine, 1 bottle of bailey’s, a bottle each of rye, vodka and rum. I must self medicate. Stat.

Not only do we have to plan the meals, we have to shop for the meals and make the meals. No one eats the stupid morning casserole I make for Christmas morning. I just wasted 2 hours making that stupid thing. Time I would have rather used rubbing the dead skin off my feet and elbows. 

Sure, I know some of you are going to comment that Mother’s don’t have to do all these things or that I don’t have to do all these things and I beg to differ. The illusion of Christmas is ours to create. We are the memory makers. It falls on us.  Our Mother’s did it for us. I want to do it for my kids. I do. I really do.

But, it still sucks.


Hey, thanks for being here. Apparently this post resonates with a ton of us.  You might also like the fact that I hit Jillian Michaels on Tyra Banks show the FABlife.

Fab Life 5


If you would like to know a bit more about me, you can find that info here or is it hear. Shit.