The Rant: I love the holidays. I have always been that person who sets her ring-tone to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” before Halloween has even hit (remember that I am medically deaf, by the way, and let that sink in for awhile). I’m also the lady who wishes Christmas trees were year-round givens, or that Chanukah could be celebrated by anyone who grew up in south Florida, purely because they desperately want to be dradle-worthy by proxy (i.e. me, the girl who still spells Hanukkah with a “Ch”). In short, I am a bit of a seasonal nut… especially when it comes to the Nutcracker. As a former ballerina, life-long dance teacher and now somewhat reluctant “dance mom”, my Yuletide merriments revolve primarily around sequins and sautés.
So when it came to sharing my story with fellow mommas on Nick (or Nickelodeon to all of us Clarissa Explains It All generational P-units), the subject was easy. Unfortunately, if there is one thing that always coincides with cyclic shows and seasonal merriment it’s not just satin ribbons and perfect posture but… vomit. That’s right, glissades and gallant cavaliers aren’t everything this time of year… there is also a surmounting surplus of uncontrollable gag refluxes! Most recently, I was serving as a “party lady” in a local production of the Nutcracker- which essentially means lots of “fanning of oneself” and false eyelashes whilst taking tiny steps in giant hoop-skirts- when the “party father” had a turn of his stomach. To the audience, it looked like a sneeze during opening night. To the ladies on stage? Like the full-on, proper ralphing that it was (center stage, mind you)- which required a lot of extra Vaseline-smiles and careful footwork to finish our dance in full. The show must go on, right?
Two years ago I was carrying out my favorite familial tradition – watching The Family Stone with my entire oversized brood- when my youngest daughter (now 4), decided to the scene needed something else. Nothing says “I love you mom!” like a regurgitated serving of Christmas Eve dinner, right? We spent our entire night hanging out in the bathtub, because neither her esophagus nor my cleaning ability could keep up with the gift of re-gifting.
In short, no matter how wild about the holidays this momma may be, no one is a match for putrid puking on your favorite day… and I quickly found myself becoming a Grinch among women, a Scrooge among moms.
Don’t be fooled by her cute, Christmas morning appearance… she has a smelly side!
So what was the remedy? (Other than toast and apple sauce for the remainder of the day.) Embracing the holidays for what they are: a beautiful dichotomy of messiness, melees, meddling and masterful matriarchy at its finest. No family is superlative, and no celebration is idyllic either. It’s only when we can accept the inevitable imperfection of ourselves, our kiddos and our relatives (as well as arm everyone with a surplus of paper towels and Tums), that we truly grasp the meaning of the season.
In honor of this- and the many messy, nutty times to come (neither a Nutcracker nor regurgitated nut pun intended)- let’s raise a toast…
To motherhood, to messes and everything in between.
Want More Where This Came From?: Check out the other hilarious #MotherFunny stories and posts at NickMom (including the special hell toy assembly) or jump over to the Nick Mom Facebook page ASAP. Deal?
Speak Up: What is YOUR most memorable #MotherFunny holiday story?