Mrs. Claus

Every woman I encountered during the month of December was a stressed out mess.  Tasked with finding the perfect gift for not only her immediate family, but also her extended family and her husband’s family had proved overwhelming.  Wrapping, planning holiday menus, attending parties, buying hostess and teacher gifts, baking cookies, appearing at school concerts, dealing with lines at the post office have made them all dreary-eyed and exasperated.  Isn’t this the month when we are supposed to be both merry and peaceful?  Deck the halls on the Silent Night and all of those other festive oxymorons?

On the other side of the spectrum, the men I spoke with seemed rather relaxed and completely un-phased by Christ’s birthday celebration looming at the end of the month.  Granted – some of them were preoccupied with closing an end of the year deal in hopes of retaining the large bonus that would ultimately fund the gift-giving extravagance of their significant other.  But mostly I maintain that men simply don’t participate in Christmas preparations for reasons I don’t understand.

After running into female friend after friend with the same gripe, it dawned on me that along with my daughter and son, I have my doubts about Santa.  Oh - I believe Santa existed, I just don’t think he did all the work.  I believe in Mrs. Claus.  When you start to analyze the legend, it becomes obvious that – much like the bible – men wrote stories with the intent of glorifying themselves.  Behind every great man, stood a woman working her ass off to make magic happen, and it was no different in the Claus family.

Brief Santa Analysis

Fact 1: Men can’t even figure out what to get their own mothers and children, no less for millions of children all over the world that they have never met. 

Fact 2: Have you ever witnessed a man making a list?  Even a simple one that breaks things down into two categories:  naughty and nice (except for his porn collection?)

Fact 3: Have you ever seen a man wrap a present that doesn’t look like a 5 year old did it?

Fact 4: How could Santa be that fat if he was doing all the work?  It just doesn’t add up. 

Fact 5: Who else has the ability to organize and multi-task in such a way that hundreds of millions of children receive exactly the presents they requested in a mere 12-hour period?   Who could manage the cross-functional elf team, wrapping wads of presents attractively, packing the sleigh so the toys don’t fall out, feeding the reindeer twice a day, and still have time to make enough food to double Santa’s girth?  

I tell you who, it was Mrs. Claus.

I liken the sleigh ride on Christmas Eve to my own morning routine whereby I rise at 6:30 and wake the kids, make the breakfasts and lunches, pack the backpacks, feed the dog and make coffee.  My husband lumbers out of bed just before 7, breezes down the stairs at 7:10 fully dressed and says “Oh I will take the kids to school - don’t worry!” Ergo - All of the moms see him dropping the kids at the bus and exclaim “Oh what a good husband he is” while I, still in my jammies with unbrushed teeth, sit home in brazen anonymity.

I conclude that it is Mrs. Claus that performs all of the important tasks behind the scenes, and Santa dons the fancy the suit and drives the sleigh. Consequently, his name is mentioned in all of the folklore and he gets to eat the cookies while she is left behind in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess.  Remember ladies - it is He who makes the public journey that reaps the acclaim.

I imagine in present times, The Night Before Christmas goes something more like this….

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house,

Mama was a basket case trying to cook, wrap and clean without the help of her husband, that louse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa would get his fat butt in the sleigh and the reindeer in the air.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

With false visions of Santa making toys wrongly placed in their heads.

With mama exhausted and cranky, and me feeling great after a night cap,

I asked for some Holiday nookie before our long winter’s nap.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear?

A wicked woman with a wild look in her eye saying, “go fuck yourself dear.”

Even though I was feeling quite lively and quick,

I knew in a moment, I should probably put away my prick. 

The bags under her eyes, and the droop of her head

Soon led me to believe I had everything to dread.

I back peddled and pleaded,

Apologized for my long list of not doing the things she needed.

Before I could make amends, she had left the room in a huff

My first thought was that she had more stockings to stuff.

I followed her out, trying desperately to atone

But alas, it was too late, it seemed her heart had turned to stone

She said, “Thank you Amazon, Target and Cole Sport,

My undying gratitude also goes to Apple, Wii, and Wal-Mart.”

And giving me the finger as I stood in the alcove,

Away in the Land cruiser (like a bat out of hell) she drove

But I heard her exclaim as she sped off into the night,

Good luck making Christmas happen by yourself next year and watch out – those reindeer bite!