Warning: adult language ahead!
So, it’s Christmas time again, and the cards are a rollin’ in, one beautiful picture after another.
I enjoy seeing them…really I do.
But you know what I don’t enjoy? I don’t enjoy the bullshit that comes with it. Yeah. I’m calling you out on that nonsense.
Please spare me the letter describing how your husband just landed a huge promotion, you two lovebirds celebrated your tenth anniversary in Tahiti, your third grader just won the Science Fair and your kindergartener was featured on the news for his community service project for Wounded Warriors.
I mean, that’s cool and all, but…gag.
You know what I want to hear about instead? I want to hear the real stories.
I want to know how you’re coping while your husband works those long hours and you still manage to work full time, take care of yourself and your family and not lose your mind. I want to hear about the train wreck that your third grader was the night before the science fair and how you coached her through it, and how your kindergartener got sent home from school last week for biting his knee-to-knee share partner.
I want the real deal.
I see your perfectly curated life on facebook. I think it’s amazing that you went to Bali on a work trip. Namaste. You rock.
I know you love your kids. I know you’re proud of them. I am too. And of you. Maybe even of your spouse too.
However, this year, could you please save us all some time and eye rolling and not write an advertisement for the life you think we want to hear you have? Just give it to me straight sister. Enough with the fluff.
Not quite sure what I mean?
Here, I’ll go first.
(Not) Another Cheezy Christmas Letter
Dear Friends, Family, and People That Don’t Fit In Either Category,
Thanks for all of your adorable cards and holiday wishes. Good stuff.
In case you don’t
mock follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, my RSS feed on my blog, elephant journal or actually see me in person, then you maybe don’t know that my life is, uh… a little different than it was a decade ago when I wrote my last Christmas letter.
A smidge. Tad. Small amount.
Here’s a quick update:
She’s nine now, and that means that everything I ever did as a child is now showing up in my life reincarnated as a a smaller, more stubborn, more rebellious, more determined version of me.
Basically, she waivers between a sweet and loving big sister to a screaming maniac at any given moment. I’m using this opportunity to teach her about karma (ahem…), self control, breathing, and
sarcasm being kind.
I feel for her, in a big way, actually. Luckily, she is catching on fast to the satire game and her witty banter is developing quite nicely. Can’t say the same for my ability to hold it together when she demonstrates this, but you know, I’m trying.
On the upside, she’s quite musically gifted. This means she loves to sing and dance. Everywhere.
She is ridiculously clever and pretty and tall and could easily pass for a twelve- year-old. Sometimes I accidentally put on her pants. (This has a whole lot to do with lycra and that’s all I’m saying about that.)
That little dude finally learned how to ride his bike, can’t hold still for more than two seconds, can read like an average eighth grader, thinks he knows the square root of 99, 999, and asks 45 questions a minute.
Also, he doesn’t forget anything. Ever. E-V-E-R. Except that you asked him to put his shoes on five times.
That he fails to recall.
He turned six last April and hasn’t been particularly successful with the team sport scene since the coaches don’t really like it when you kick them in the knees and run off the field. However, we’re trying our luck (and their patience) again this Spring since I finally remembered to sign him up for Little League on time.
Pray for us.
Um. Let’s see. I’m pretty sure I’m officially in my mid-thirties now, which makes me old and you oldER. I’m still single and I’m mostly avoiding dating because it’s hard work finding the time (and an outfit), and a man who can
handle all of this keep up with me, but uh, I’m trusting the universe to provide. Because it will.
Yes, I did say “trusting the universe.” That’s how I roll now. And um, to that end, I’m using my college degrees and credentials to—leverage my resources, shall we say? I write, actually, like, for money not just because I own a laptop and like to drink coffee alongside local hispters.
Twice a week I play dress up as an English Professor so that I can sound important. Actually, no…it’s because they pay me to help adults learn to read while I crack jokes for several hours. It’s really quite the ideal set-up.
I ride my bike to the yoga studio, shop at the Food Co-Op, and buy organic produce at the Farmer’s Market. However, I also still drive a 10 year old SUV. So um, balance and stuff.
Speaking of balance and yoga— that’s a big part of my life now . Huge, actually. I’m rather flexible. For real. In lots of ways, as a matter of fact.
I finally decided what I want to be when I grow up, and I’m going after it, spiritual gangster style baby. I did Teacher Training last summer, and then quit a normal well paying job so I could help people work their (sweaty) insecurities out at five locations a week.
I’m busy. Ridiculous busy. My calendar makes my head spin and my heart sing.
We love where we’re at, and we’re amazingly happy—chaos, failures and and all.
Life is good. We hope you are too.
Be love. Be light. Be happy.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
Author: Michelle Sweezey
Editor: Renée Picard
Photo: Wikimedia Commons