The trade-offs of a teenage Christmas
What I’m missing, what I’m grateful I skipped, and what I’m building instead
I had magical Christmases as a child — for many reasons, but largely because every single Christmas Eve, I was woken up from my sleep and told Santa was there for me in person. He’d give me a present (always something I’d written asking for), would take some cookies and leave. My oldest brother lived on the top floor of the house and would always confirm he’d woken up first due to the sound of the sleigh and reindeer right over his head. Given the hard evidence I had, I’m not sure when I would have stopped believing in Santa if a neighbor’s brother hadn’t spoiled it for me. My mother harbored a grudge against him for decades; I know even in the last year before her death it came up and she just went “what kind of sociopath ruins Christmas for a child?”
Outside of the trauma of having Christmas spoiled by a teenage boy being a teenage boy, I have always been a Christmas girl. Some of it is fate: I love red, any excuse to drink hot chocolate, jazzy music, a little sparkle, and chocolate mint is forever and always my favorite flavor combination. My dad would often take me into New York for a father-daughter excursion so that we could see the tree at Rockefeller Center and the Rockettes at Radio City. When I was younger, I dreamed of being on that stage doing high kicks, and in later years when I came to terms with my limited dance abilities and flexibility – mental and physical – I marveled at the operations and efficiency with which they changed sets and moved people around.
My very first Fakes-mas, the kids were 7, 13, and 16, and Oldest and Middle were already pretty jaded. We never got to do any of the Santa things with Youngest because their mother had custody during all of those early holidays so the opportunity for Christmas magic was limited. Having had the chance to see my nieces and nephews on Christmas mornings has made up for it a bit, but also serves as a reminder of something I’ve missed.
I’m already a morning person, eager to start the day right away, and remember negotiating with my older brothers for an earlier time to go downstairs on Christmas morning. At some point with teenagers, you have to accept the reality that an 8 AM present opening is just not happening. I’d sit at the top of the stairs patiently (actually, that’s debatable, no need for my father to fact check) for an hour or two while my parents would pass me and I’d keep asking if it was time. Inheriting kids at the ages I did, and not having an official Christmas morning to work around meant it was hard to even get our Fakes-mas morning rolling before 11 AM.
The entire gifting process for older kids is totally different. I have a deep core memory of the reaction I had when I saw my American Girl doll (Molly, even though many of you probs assumed Samantha given my… entire personality) under the tree. My mother called a gift like Molly an EP (or “eye popper”) and you were not guaranteed an EP every year, nor did every child get an EP. But some part of the mystery of wondering/hoping if you’d get an EP added an extra layer of fun for everyone… except for Sunshine, my canary, who was an EP one year and lived a short and stressful life being harassed by our otherwise amazing dog Houston. I think live EPs were eliminated after that experience. For teens today, money and store gift cards are preferable (and require no long-term care). Printing out gift cards to various stores or for downloadable games and just folding up the paper or putting it in cards may streamline wrapping but no gift card will ever make the eyes pop.
While part of me is sad to have missed some of those early special gift years (we didn’t have the kids on an actual Christmas morning until Youngest was 10 and officially a non-believer), I will say I’m grateful for some things I’ve never had to deal with. For example, I’ve never had to assemble some kind of complicated toy until midnight (or sat there while Jeff did and tried not to annoy him).
Elf on a Shelf was not a thing we had to deal with and seems like either an insane stressor or a creative exercise for me to invent all the places where our “elf” could be hiding completely out of sight. We managed two days of Elf on a Shelf activities for my niece two years ago and I wildly underestimated the amount of narrative that needed to be created to explain the behavior of a toy elf. As previously shared here, I am a terrible liar, so when I’m asked why Fibble the Elf decided to climb inside a bowl of oranges when they’re too big for him to eat, I kind of flailed helplessly looking for someone with better improv skills to jump in.
The bigger trade-offs though are just inheriting my children at stages where it’s all about obligation and performance – what can I produce in terms of meals, presents, decor, and traditions? – without getting to build on a foundation of the childlike wonder years. Not to mention, holidays open up a lot of complicated feelings and negotiations for a blended family, so there’s often some type of tears, jealousy, frustration, sadness, that appear at some point whether welcome or not. With older kids, I often felt I was putting on a Christmas production for an audience that’s mostly checked out.
For Jeff, who watched this transition happen over time, it didn’t seem as stark. For me, my mother was really the only person in my life who had this kind of instant compassion for what I was missing. So when she died, I lost that sensitivity in addition to a core creator of Christmas magic in my life and someone who excelled at bringing together people of all ages. The first Christmas or two after she died were hard, not just without her, but because I felt so frustrated in my “Christmas cruise director” role with guests who didn’t seem to want to get on board.
During one tearful conversation with Jeff, however, I realized that I don’t have to produce Christmas for teens who’d rather play video games. I can, instead, produce Christmas for me. We can create traditions and decorate in a way that just helps us enjoy the season as much as possible. I started putting way too much effort into Christmas cards and figured out that if you come up with a concept or matching shirts, you don’t have to negotiate with teens about their attire for the picture.1
We announced that I was off stocking stuffer duty and everyone had to help fill each other’s stockings. Jeff and I were in a restaurant that had a Christmas carousel and as cheesy as it was, it was exactly the kind of whimsy we wanted in the house for this time of year. My father and I, who have always loved watching “White Christmas” together, now do so in matching sweatshirts I found on Etsy.
I dragged Jeff to go see the Rockettes, and while I have very limited desire to be within a three block radius of Rockefeller Center at that time of year ever again, he agreed it was beyond magical. I still dropped my jaw at the orchestra pit moving and ice dancers appearing, but this time I was surprised and in awe as they introduced a new “frost fairy” number that involves hundreds of fairy drones flying around in front of your eyes. As two adults there amidst so many children (often in matching velvet dresses!), our eyes were just as wide. Well, mine were. Jeff wanted to discuss drone technology.
Obviously nothing replaces my mother and her energy and I can’t get back the years I missed, but I can come up with my own spin that ensures I have a magical season and be captain of my own Christmas ship instead of a cruise director for reluctant passengers.
And, in that role, I’ve discovered that more people seem to be interested in hopping on board. Probably for the cookies.
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If you are typically on my list, I’m not sending cards this year! We actually never got together as a family in 2025 so I have no photos at all. Not to mention, I couldn’t come up with a creative concept for a no-picture card after my kids told me doing an AI-generated photo was “cringe.” TBD on whether I’ll send a New Year’s card or not.