It’s the advent of Christmas Card Season, when things other than bills grace my mailbox. Whenever I get a Christmas card, I go through the Kubler-Ross stages of emotions, from denial (It’s not Christmas again, is it?), to guilt (I really should send Christmas cards), to bargaining (If you’re going to send me a card, shouldn’t you write more than just your name?), to depression (It’s a photocopied letter, sent by an acquaintance in her thirties).
Christmas letters might be fine for those who are retired: my mom writes a decent one (this year’s missive includes her experience driving through a tornado, told in a detached voice).
When we middle-aged folk write Christmas letters, though, they tend to fall into three categories:
The Bragster Version: From sports skills and grades, to the age kids walked at and their height, the Bragster Christmas Letter offers a report card of success. We readers get to compare how inadequate our own kids are. It’s hard for me to use my kids as an example for this, since they’re poster-children for average. They can’t read, they can’t tie their own shoe laces, and they can’t do cartwheels. But here goes:
The Great Bragster Race
The Pretend-It’s-Your-Kid-Writing-The-Letter Version: This version, told from the point of view of children who can barely utter two-word sentences, is at its worst when kids are newborns. Who knows what they’re thinking? So let’s put words in their mouths.
Put-words-in-your-kid's-mouth version
The Cutesy-Font Version: I’d like to start a movement to ban cutesy fonts. Nothing says I’m-still-nine-years-old like a pink curlicue font with hearts floating about the letter “i”. Throw in Santa stationery and I’m hurling the leftover Kraft Dinner I ate for breakfast.
The Gag-Me-with-a-Spoon Version
This year, though, I’m proud to say I’ve reached Kubler-Ross’s final stage of grief: acceptance. I’m going to summarize 2009 in a Twitter-inspired Christmas card letter. Feel free to post your own 140-characters-or-less version in the comment section. Without further ado, my year in review:
Ballrm dancing lessons w/ hubby sucked. Parents sold farm. Vivi/Will started KG, separate classes. New blog. Still teaching. Happy Holidays.
Leanne Shirtliffe is the mother of seven-year-old twins, Thing 1 and Thing 2. She lived in Asia for eight years, which turned out to be a build-your-own-family adventure. Leanne writes for Nickelodeon and pens a humour column for The Calgary Herald. She is represented by Jill Marr of the Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency in California. 
