What I Love About Christmas

"Christmas isn't just a time for celebrating the joys of the present; it's also a time for celebrating the memories of Christmases past."

For me, Christmas isn't just a time for celebrating the joys of the present; it's also a time for celebrating the memories of Christmases past. A time for remembering the anticipation that kept your little heart pounding and your eyes open as you reluctantly laid head to pillow on Christmas Eve, listening for the scratch of reindeer hooves on your rooftop. For recalling the swell of joy as you awakened the next morning, your mind barely able to absorb the fact that after 364 long days of waiting, Christmas Day was finally, finally here.

It's also a time for remembering the one year you woke up on Christmas morning, and suddenly the anticipation of the day to come wasn't nearly as sweet as it once was, and as each holiday season went by you realized that Christmas would never feel so magical again.

In despair you think to yourself, "Why?" Why does the magic fade? Why do we have to outgrow such simple joy? And one Christmas you're talking about it to your wife for what she says is the umpteenth time while she's trying to feed the baby and finish the stuffing and boil the eggs for the potato salad and salvage the pound cake that she left in the oven too long because she was distracted by your whining and WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE AND GIVE ME A HAND FOR CHRISSAKE she yells. And she doesn't listen, she never listens, and you scream right back at her that she doesn't listen, and she stalks up to you and snatches your beer out of your grasp and flings it across the room, and that was your last freaking beer and there's no way you're gonna make it through the next 24 hours sober so you go over to the dinnertable and shove all the food onto the floor. And over the clatter of dishes and the splattering of casseroles you hear the doorbell and you see your in-laws peering in through the window, and then the baby starts crying and you're happy about it because it drowns out the sound of your own weeping.

"Nothing says 'Merry Christmas' like electrocuted cats, incinerated Christmas trees, attack squirrels and SWAT raids."

In our home, the holiday season hasn't officially begun until NBC's annual airing of "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation." That movie is epic. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like electrocuted cats, incinerated Christmas trees, attack squirrels and SWAT raids.

Then there's "The Santa Clause," where the character Scott Calvin (Tim Allen) has to step in as Santa after the original Mr. Claus meets an untimely demise by falling from the roof. Imagine how traumatizing it must have been for young movie-goers to watch their jolly old hero tumble from the heights and land with a final "HO" in a crumpled heap, the crunch of the snow under his fat corpse amplified by unforgiving Surround Sound. Imagine the startled gasps of the children. Imagine their wide, red-rimmed eyes. Go on, get a good mental picture. I know, I can't stop laughing either.

"What was she thinking when she bought these things?"

Big flatscreen tvs and blockbuster movies,
New Ipods loaded with music so groovy,
Fat wads of money to buy me some bling,
These are a few of my favorite things.

But I got Old Spice and stale peanut brittle,
Itchy wool sweaters three sizes too little,
Red paisley jackets with bright purple jeans,
What was she thinking when she bought these things?

Now she's upset because I hate her presents
She finds my honesty rather unpleasant
She'll call her lawyer and she'll pull some strings,
So she'll get half of my favorite things.