Yes, Virginia, Christmas is Messy.

Growing up in my family was a wild ride. Some day, I will probably write a book about it, TBH, but at this time of year, the nostalgia of growing up in a big, crazy family is ever present.

Christmas morning was always exciting, especially when the six of us were together. Yet, one Christmas stands out the most: the one when Gramma visited.

Having rushed downstairs at 0-dark-30, we took our opened gifts to our rooms and everyone pitched in to get ready for Christmas lunch. I helped my mom take out the gold-plated china and pretty crystal glasses from the cabinet. We had flowers, and fancy napkins, and candles. When we went into the dining room that afternoon, everything looked beautiful. Like a magazine photo.

While most of us were “practicing our best manners,” three-quarters of the way through the meal, Gramma, visiting from the North, proclaimed the South was too hot for her. She promptly took off her shirt and sat in her pointy Playtex “brassiere” for the rest of the Christmas meal. 

Yep.

Not even kidding.

After a few snickers from my brothers, I quickly looked at my Mom. She was the picture of calm… perhaps a bit speechless but still as best as I can recall, completely unruffled. She excused herself to the kitchen for a refill of the gravy boat (probably shot back a quick nip of eggnog) and returned to the dining room. And after all, what does one say to one’s MIL when she is a force to be reckoned with and all your children are watching?

Today, I spilled Chic Fil A sauce on the shirt I have to wear to work tonight. Being the sensible and efficient person I am, I stripped off the shirt, shot it with some SHOUT, and threw it in for a light lunchtime load. Then, I went back to my desk. 

It wasn’t until I started feeling chilly that I realized I sat working at my computer— in my bra. 

I have become Gramma, I thought, with some combination of both fear and acceptance.

I will add that I am home alone. There isn’t anyone here to witness this moment. And… well, it’s not Christmas lunch. It’s just Tuesday.

I chuckled to myself and sent a selfie to my sister with the hashtag “grammavibes.”

Then the thought occurred to me: I am no longer even aghast at Gramma actions. In fact, 40 years later, I am rather proud of the guts it took not to care what anyone thought. Or to feel constrained by the formality of the moment. But just, to be … her authentic self.

Here’s the thing:

There’s no guarantee that something won’t go awry for you next week - no matter how much you have planned for the perfection of Christmas. In fact, it’s almost certain that something will shock or confuse you because, guess what: you can have all the pretty dishes out, the house can be spotless, and someone still might take off their clothes.

Just go on and get ready for it.

When it does… when the teenager shows up with torn jeans… or the teenager’s boyfriend wears his ballcap to the table… or the ham is dry or the presents don’t all arrive on time or the dog gets sick in the middle of the kitchen… just keep on going, girl. That’s life. And, life is messy. Even on Christmas day.

Here’s wishing you a holiday meal that is all the right kinds of ballsy - where you are lucky enough to spend the sand in your hourglass with people who are authentically, beautifully, unabashedly themselves.