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Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays
Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays
Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays
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Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays

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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!
LanguageEnglish
PublisherPocket Star
Release dateNov 17, 2014
ISBN9781501107429
Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays
Author

Jill Smokler

Jill Smokler’s candor about the underbelly of marriage and parenting has made her an unlikely hero among a new generation of women. Married to her college sweetheart, Jeff, she lives in Baltimore with her three children and a golden retriever.

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    Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays - Jill Smokler

    SCARY MOMMY CONFESSIONS

    ★  I wear my maternity pants every Thanksgiving so I can eat all the food I want without worrying about the button digging into my stomach. My kid is six years old.

    ★  Every year, I pretend I have to hunt at multiple stores to find a turkey while my husband watches the kids, when in actuality I’m drinking coffee by myself at Starbucks.

    ★  I am an environmentalist who gives it all up for Thanksgiving. There’s no way I’m washing all of those plates. Paper plates for everyone!

    ★  I bring store-bought pies to my family Thanksgiving and claim they’re homemade. I’ve never been busted.

    ★  One year I faked the flu so I could get out of cooking Thanksgiving and sent the kids to their grandparents’. It was the best night I’ve ever had.

    ★  Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday . . . until it actually arrives. Then? I hate it.

    ★  While I tell people at Thanksgiving that I’m thankful for my family, I really want to say I’m thankful for the wine.

    ★  I once went to Thanksgiving high as a kite and my parents didn’t notice. But I am pretty sure that the turkey was giving me the eye.

      I invited some new friends over for Thanksgiving dinner without thinking about the fact that I don’t know how to cook. Bought the whole thing from Boston Market and played it off as my own cooking.

    ★  I once told my eighty-four-year-old grandma that my husband had to work and my kid was sick so we could go and have Thanksgiving with friends.

    ★  When I was younger I thought that the whisk was Mom’s hair curler and I couldn’t understand why we would ever use it to make mashed potatoes.

    ★  I dropped the cooked turkey on the floor—the not-very-clean floor—and served it anyway.

    ★  I take all of my MIL’s labels off of gifts and say they’re from Santa.

    ★  I’m a conservative Jew . . . and I’ve always longed for a Christmas tree.

    ★  Instead of carving a turkey, I dream of carving my mother-in-law’s neck.

    ★  I finally have Thanksgiving off for the first time in five years. But instead of telling anyone, I’m spending the day in bed and showing up to family dinner at 4:00 p.m. BEST THANKSGIVING EVER!

    ★  One of the things I’m most grateful for this Thanksgiving is that I can afford biweekly electrolysis treatments to my chin.

    1

    THE THANKLESSNESS OF MOTHERHOOD

    by Jill Smokler

    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? Daddy?

    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?

    That’s nice, I mustered up. What about me?

    "Of course, you," she responded.

    Well, okay. Of course me.

    After Daddy, poop and ice cream.

    That’s motherhood for you.

    2

    PREPARING TO HOST THANKSGIVING DINNER . . . WITH CHILDREN

    by Amy Hunter

    STEP ONE: Get all the shopping done before the kids are on Thanksgiving break. Shopping with kids is additional stress that you don’t need, and when your shopping list consists of over eighty items, you don’t want this to be the time your preschooler wants to be in charge of the shopping list. Make sure you have a wingman on speed dial to get you the shit you forgot, because you will forget something.

    STEP TWO: Pour yourself a drink. A stiff drink, preferably with alcohol. This is where a sober-driver wingman will come into play when a large bus of nuns breaks down on your street and you have to set the table for six more diners to share your feast with. You can’t say no to nuns, even if you wanted to. Nope, nuns will always have a place to eat Thanksgiving dinner. Besides, they bring the good juju.

    STEP THREE: Defrost the turkey. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but my family still tells a story from 1971 where my newly married aunt served a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, and while we want the meal to be memorable, we don’t want it to be that kind of memory. Think delicious memory, not you’re-gonna-spend-more-money-on-therapy memory.

    STEP FOUR: Prepare everything you can in advance. I’ve always been a firm believer that food needs to be as farm-to-table fresh as it possibly can be, and that’s true . . . if you’re in a freaking restaurant. I’m not a professional chef, or a line cook (although my kids do act like this joint is a diner) and once I had mouths to feed that weren’t my own, fresh took on a whole new definition. If I mix more than three ingredients, it’s fresh. So . . . green bean casserole? That bitch can be made the day (or two days) before and reheated right before it’s served. Same with pumpkin pie. Besides, my ninety-one-year-old grandma is the only one who eats that anyway. What’s a couple extra days when you’re ninety-one?

    STEP FIVE: Set the table. My mother-in-law, hubby-to-be, and I shopped forever for the perfect good china when we got married, and now . . . you guessed it, we are breaking those bad boys out. Of course, we never registered for place settings for twenty people, but it’s not like I’m going to let the kids use the good dishes anyway. Shabby chic is back in! Right? As you unpack, dust, and set up, of course the three-year-old wants to hold the largest and most expensive piece to replace. Attempt to refocus him with a task less daunting, like coloring pictures of pumpkins. Set him up with that someplace far away from you, so there won’t be any See Mom? SEEEEE???? MOM!!!! while you are working.

    STEP SIX: Dessert. Dessert is the most ridiculous part of Thanksgiving dinner because usually everyone is so damn full and tired, they barely even touch the magnificent sweets, which are the biggest time-suck to a mom chef. This is the reason the wise outsource dessert. Aunt Carol wants to make apple pie? Excellent. Go on with your bad self, Aunt Carol.

    STEP SEVEN: The stuffing. Some people prefer to cook the stuffing in the bird, some prefer it cooked out of the bird. Of course my family is split down the middle as to their preference, so I do both, because God forbid they can make things easy and the last thing I want to listen to for the next five hours is how the stuffing could have been better if I just . . . Nope. No way. I’d rather stick myself in the eye with a pencil.

    STEP EIGHT: Cooking the bird. You finally have a defrosted turkey and it’s time to cook it. You have one hand in its carcass and you’re pulling out all the innards when the nine-year-old informs you that his little brother has stopped coloring pumpkins and started coloring the wall. Leave the turkey in the sink and grab your Magic Eraser. Refocus the preschooler with his brother’s

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