Being a father has meant a radical shift in Christmas; here’s what has changed.
- Now I “have” to eat the Santa Cookies after the kids fall asleep. Sacrifices must be made. Basically, I eat them off a plate now instead the cooling rack.
- Some assembly is required, aka, “Who in the f@#! designed this toy with that screwdriver/wrench/dinglehopper in mind?” Putting together my daughter’s bike took about 20 minutes, I thought it would take two.
- Fun gift ratio is WAAAAAYYY lower the older you get. In fairness, I can probably buy whatever for myself would it kill any of you people to pull resources and get me a bald eagle? It’s been on my list for 22 years.
- I have to wrap gifts now. The guilt finally got to me, but I wrap like Captain Hook after a bottle of Captain Morgan’s.
- I actually initiate the Christmas music. I never thought this day would come. Side note: There are no modern remakes tolerated, even Wham’s Last Christmas will be played over Taylor Freakin’ Swift in this house. Bing, Burl, Cole, Williams and the like or GTFO.
- Watching kids open presents (my daughter says “presidents” and it’s the best) is better than opening them. Unless there’s a bald eagle under the tree, then those little scamps better get out the way.