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If we're going to be perfectly honest here, I would guess that I spend roughly 25 seconds of every minute wondering whether or not my kids are normal. The other 35 seconds are usually dominated by wondering what I'm going to have for dessert.

You can call me crazy, but last night as I was hiding in the bathroom pretending like I was vomiting but really just trying to get a moment of peace as I surfed the web, I read an email from BabyCenter titled: “Is Your Baby Normal? Your Top 30 Questions Answered.”

Every year, a few weeks before Thanksgiving, my husband starts to get twitchy. And, no surprise, his strange behavior almost always coincides with the day I dare to bring up the holidays looming ahead.

As soon as we start debating the intricacies of which relatives to visit when (or more accurately, which side of the family we’ve decided to piss off more this year), it becomes obvious that he’s ready to crack.

“I’m going to clean the deep fryers that day,” he told me recently, when I mentioned that we had yet to make plans for this year’s Thanksgiving. He was kidding, but still, a man who jokes about choosing a vat of deep fried fat over a day filled with family is a man who clearly would not agree that this is “the most wonderful time of the year.

What’s the Source of Our Holiday Stress?

As relaxing and joyful as the holidays are intended to be, the reality is that they often yield nothing but stress – especially for those of us knee-deep in the trenches of raising kids.  

We’re burdened by the expectation of creating a Pinterest-perfect holiday.  We’re overwhelmed by the sheer number of seasonal outings and activities we’re expected to participate in. And we struggle endlessly to balance the needs of our children with the demands of family members who routinely expect us to somehow be in twelve different places at once.  

Add in several inevitable choruses of “I didn’t raise my kids that way and they turned out fine,” and it’s no wonder that many of us would rather skip the holiday season entirely.

Unfortunately, as much as we may want to jump into a Charles Dickens’ novel and channel our inner Scrooge (or go clean deep fryers – pick your poison), we can’t escape the holidays, or the family obligations that go along with them. Hoping to actually enjoy spending time with your nearest and dearest this holiday season? Here are my top 6 suggestions for making it happen:

My kids are both serious carnivores. I can’t say that I blame, they come by it naturally. While I may serve dinners made of chickpeas and quinoa on a regular basis, I’m still at my happiest when scarfing down a Thickburger from Hardee’s (especially one that has been slathered in extra mayo).  
 

It wasn't until after I lost the baby weight that I really started to worry. I was back at my starting point, number wise, but let's just say things had settled into a most unsavory final resting place.

After taking an afternoon to think about it I came to my final decision. I was going to have full body plastic surgery.

But then Nick, my husband, said that wouldn't be a good idea.

Something really strange is happening to me as I get older. I can't even watch someone jump on a trampoline without peeing all over myself.

But that's probably a conversation best had with my doctor.

The other thing that's happening is that I'm losing my holiday spirit.

French President Francois Hollande made headlines recently when he proposed a total ban on homework as part of his effort to reform France’s educational system. In related news, I am now officially moving to the land of crusty baguettes and smelly cheese.

Despite having lived most of their lives in St. Louis, my children had — up until this past weekend — never been to the Saint Louis Science Center. It’s a major mom fail, I know, ranking right up there with forgetting to pack the Gushers in last Friday’s lunchbox as promised.  I may never hear the end of that one.

Now that we’re about to reach our upper-30’s, Mr.

 You know what my sisters and I did to entertain ourselves when

we were kids? We played with used syringes we found in the dumpster behind the hospital. And that was on a good day. When there were no syringes we played with the cinder blocks holding up our trailer.

I mean, no offense to my parents – I just grew up in the '70s. And in the '70s people didn't worry about things like “rules” or “death.” Used syringes were on every kid's birthday wish list. At least that's what my Mom told me each year as I opened my presents.

On Saturday, shrouded in the post-coital glow of a late-night Cardinals win, I took my three little girls to the October Owls and Orchids event at the Butterfly House.

When I was little, if you would have taken me to a dome filled with beautiful flowers and butterflies... well I would have just pooped kittens right there on the spot.