From New York Times bestselling author and acclaimed “Scary Mommy” blogger Jill Smokler comes a funny and practical guide filled with essays, recipes, and tried-and-true tips sure to get any parent through the holiday season—without losing your marbles.
Ah, the holidays: a time of joy, celebration, serenity, and peace…
Unless, of course, you have whiny, screaming children demanding presents, attention, and a personal appearance by Santa or Judah the Maccabee. Then you’re screwed.
But wait, there’s hope: Scary Mommy Guide to Surviving the Holidays to the rescue!
Yes, in this handy holiday guide, you’ll find everything you need to survive the fall/winter rush of cheer in style, and without having a mental breakdown. From relatable, hilarious essays on everything from the Santa myth to being seated at the dreaded kids’ table, to easy-to-follow recipes that might include just a little something special to take the edge off (can anyone say Kahlua?), to fun and accessible gift ideas, this book is your ticket to peace of mind—and a laugh—during the busy, crazy holiday season!
Motherhood, as wondrous and fulfilling as it may be, is an utterly thankless job.
When else is it considered acceptable to be hollered for when someone needs an ass wiping, and not get so much as a thank-you for a job well done?
Just last week, I had to turn around immediately after school dropoff, drive back home to find Lily’s cleats, and return to school just to deliver them to her. Did I get so much as a thank- you? No, I got attitude for forgetting her socks.
Back when I brought my laundry to the wash and dry in college, I certainly mustered up a smile and a thank-you as it was presented to me all clean and folded in my plastic laundry basket (those were the days). My children, however, seem to think the clothes magically end up clean and organized in their drawers while they sleep. If only.
Dinner is met with eyerolls rather than appreciation and, God forbid, I not have their favorite cereal stocked in the pantry. But when I do have it stocked, ninety-nine percent of the time, do you think I get so much as a “thanks!”? No. I do not.
Obviously, I do these things because I love my children and taking care of them—asses and all—is what I signed up for. But every once in a while, a sincere “thank you for everything you do, Mom” would be nice.
That’s why, once I became a mother, Thanksgiving took the cake as my favorite holiday. A day to really reflect on all that I’m grateful for, and even better, a day to be lavished in gratitude myself. None of the Hallmark cheesiness of Mother’s Day and no messy breakfasts in bed to clean up after. Just one day a year to truly be thankful for my three biggest blessings, and to be celebrated by them, as well. Sign me up!
Except it never seems to happen like that.
“What are you thankful for?” I asked the kids a few years back, desperately fishing for compliments when they weren’t flowing as I’d hoped.
“Poop,” Evan enthusiastically responded. Poop? Ooookay, strike one. Luckily I have three kids.
“Eating ice cream,” Ben followed up with. Ice cream? None for you today, punk.
“Ummmmm . . .” Lily was thoughtful. This was what I’d been waiting for. She was my new favorite, perhaps for life.
“Daddy,” she finally pronounced.
Daddy, who was napping on the couch and hadn’t or wouldn’t lift a finger to prepare the delicious dinner you’re about to inhale? DADDY? Daddy didn’t carry you and birth you and sure as hell isn’t sporting stretch marks because of you. Daddy? And ice cream? And poop?! Who the hell raised these children and did they come with a return policy?
Jill Smokler is a New York Times bestselling author and domestic satirist whose candor about marriage and parenting has made her an unlikely hero among a new generation of women. She holds a degree in graphic design and psychology from Washington University in St. Louis and has three children. Married to her college sweetheart, she and her family live in downtown Baltimore.