Christmas Traditions

Christmas is here again. Please, someone save me. I can’t help but feel that every Christmas my wallet gets smaller and my waist line gets bigger. So no, Christmas is not my favorite time of year, for it seems like it’s out to get me. But, nonetheless, I do enjoy the small traditions my family and I do on every Christmas. Stupid little things that make the holiday a tiny bit more special, more enjoyable.

Every Christmas morning my family and I have our orange rolls and Eggs Benedict. My waist is getting bigger just thinking about it. I don’t know why we started this tradition but these foods say Christmas to me now.

Every Christmas we buy our dog, CJ, toys and snacks and wrap them up in doggie Christmas paper and watch while CJ rips into them. Over the years he has learned how to open up presents with great proficiency. Unfortunately, this will be the first Christmas without CJ.

We also like to watch a movie together every Christmas. Surround sound blaring, dad snoring because he fell asleep once again while watching a movie. He’s just to plain old to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. (Sorry, dad, you know I kid. And you also know that it’s a hundred percent true.)

Then we sit down for Christmas dinner, prime rib this year, and talk about how we swear next year we won’t buy so much and eat so much. (Yeah, like that’s going to happen.)

See, nothing special, just small traditions that mean something to us no matter how much we grumble that we hate Christmas.

Now I would like to share some funny Christmas poems. The first one I wrote for my Inland Empires California Writer’s Club Christmas party. You have to read a piece of your work if you want to get a present. It’s not very good, since poetry is not my thing, but it’s kinda funny at least.

The family is coming again this year
Have to decorate every square inch of our home
I look at the tree and grab some gear.
What the hell is Christmas foam?

Oh well, I think, while I spray

I guess it has a likeness to fallen snow.
The torture will end soon I pray
The fumes begin to grow.
 

Decorate some more
Pass out again
The pattern becomes a bore.

With every trinket and ball known to man
I come away only mildly frazzled
But mom caught me before I ran

A kind of nickname only a mother can give a daughter
“Don’t forget to decorate the front and back of the house too”
Apparently I was just Christmas fodder

Truly hating to decorate with every bodily cell
But once again I began the same journey as every year
To my very own personal Christmas hell.

– Jennifer Bielman

Twas the Month After Christmas

Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste.
All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”

As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt —

I said to myself, as I only can
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”

So–away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won’t have a cookie–not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore —
But isn’t that what January is for?

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

– Anonymous

Christmas Dog

Tonight’s my first night as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas Eve.
The children are sleeping all cozy upstairs,
While I’m guardin’ the stockin’s and tree.

What’s that now—footsteps on the rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a mouse?
Who’s this down the chimney?
A thief with a beard—
And a big sack for robbin’ the house?

I’m barkin’, I’m growlin’, I’m bitin’ his butt.
He howls and jumps back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange horses, they leap in the air.
I’ve frightened the whole bunch away.

Now the house is all peaceful and quiet again.
The stockin’s are safe as can be.
Won’t the kiddies be glad when they wake up tomorrow
And see how I’ve guarded the tree.

– Shel Silverstein

A Politically Correct Christmas Story

T’was the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck…
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”.
“Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves.
And labour conditions at the North Pole
were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called “Unenlightened.”

And to show you the strangeness of life’s ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorised use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she’d enough of this life,

Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he’d never had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.

Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamoured or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls, or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacifistic.

No candy or sweets…they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football…someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.

He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you’ve got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere…even you.
So here is that gift, it’s price beyond worth…
May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.

– Anonymus

Source of the last three poems: http://www.coolest-holiday-parties.com/funny-christmas-poems.html

Happy Holidays. I hope you have a wonderful day. If your feeling generous, please feel free to leave a comment, telling us about your Christmas traditions.

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