It’s Christmas. Chill out.

It’s Christmas Eve, Eve.

Once again, I’m not really ready.

None of my presents are wrapped. The house isn’t clean. We haven’t made gingerbread cookies and I have like five crafts I was hoping to do with the kids that aren’t going to get finished.

Or even started.

I could easily do the two-days-before-Christmas-freak out.

I could spend all day tomorrow snapping at the kids so that I can make Christmas perfect for them. (Ironic, yet so many of us do it).

Or I can chill the fuck out.

In twenty years, Number 4 won’t remember if the dining room table was totally cleared off the day before Christmas.

Number 5 won’t remember if all the laundry was folded and put away before Santa arrived.

Number 6 won’t give a rat’s ass if the presents are wrapped perfectly. In fact, I 100% guarantee the quality of the wrapping job isn’t even on his radar.

I don’t have bows or tags for presents.

I won’t be using twine and hand cut and decorated gift tags for every gift the kids get.

Yes, I will wrap them. And I will write directly on the wrapping paper with a Sharpie.

Good enough.

We probably won’t build that little foam gingerbread village I got for the kids.

I never got to make the garland I wanted to make out of old fabric scraps with the kids, and the pine cones we collected that I was going to make ornaments out of are still sitting on a piece of foil in the dining room.

We may get to them.

And we may not.

It’s okay.

I have given my kids memories this Christmas season. We have read books. We’ve made cookies.

I haven’t given them all the memories I had planned, but that’s okay, too.

We’ve learned lots of Christmas songs and we’ve done lot of singing.

Even if I hadn’t done a damn thing at all so far, there is still time tomorrow.

So we didn’t make sugar cookies from scratch and roll out the dough like Laura Ingalls would have.

I think the kids will be just as happy getting a roll of pre-made sugar cookie dough from the grocery store, cutting it into slices, and dumping a whole shitload of sprinkles on top of them.

And to be honest, that would probably be way more fun for me than having to referee them all and keep their hands out of mixing bowls and their mouths.

So before you have the Christmas Eve freak out, take a few deep breaths.

Maybe a couple sips (or bottles) of wine.

Chill.

It’s totally not about perfection.

And if you think your kids will notice the quality of the wrapping job or whether the bathroom is sparkling or how perfectly your house is decorated and the placement of each individual Christmas decoration, um…

they won’t.

They won’t remember any of that shit.

I mean, my kids scribble on a piece of brown paper, proudly show me their “reindeer” and then hang it crooked on the wall next to their bed with like fourteen pieces of tape on top of it.

And they LOVE it.

As for presents and wrapping, my standards for that continue to decline every year.

I couldn’t tell you how the presents from my childhood were wrapped or labeled.

Could you?

But I remember who I spent every Christmas Eve with as far back as I have memories.

And that’s what it’s all about.

So before you commence freaking, take a couple deep breaths.

Relax.

Enjoy the next 48 hours.

And if you really need to, you can always return to spaz mode on December 26th.

There’s another holiday coming up soon enough.