Gratitude & Grit: the Holiday Mom Juggle

By: Alycia Calderin

The holiday season is magical. And exhausting. This time of year is a wild blend of joy and borderline madness, of gratitude and grit. Equal parts pumpkin pie and panic. It’s the season of giving…and giving up and ordering pizza because you forgot to thaw dinner. Again.

It kicks off with Thanksgiving, or as my teenager now calls it, “the thing getting in the way of Christmas.” Halloween candy just landed in the pantry when she busts out a Christmas sweatshirt and asks where the stockings are. Bless her holly jolly heart. I’m still clinging to Thanksgiving. Barely.

Whether we’re hosting or packing up for the in-laws, there’s always a last-minute grocery run, a missing pie crust, and a fight over why I want everything color-coordinated. I imagine a Norman Rockwell scene. What we get is more like a group project: no clear leader, lots of carbs, and me quietly panicking about the sweet potatoes.


Then, in a blink, the pressure to deck the halls kicks in. In our house, that means peeling paper turkeys off the fridge and panicking when the neighbors already have lights up. Last year I suggested we go full Pinterest, white lights, matte ornaments, velvet ribbon. All four kids proclaimed: “We like our old decorations.” I melted.


Because our tree, chaotic and glitter bombed, is ours. Bent pipe cleaner reindeer, chubby baby photo ornaments, one bulb that always blinks too fast. Hanging lights, laughing about what always falls off, that’s the tradition. Not the perfection. That’s the stuff that sticks.


And then there’s the Christmas tree. My husband and I rarely argue, except at the tree lot. Every year. He swears any tree over $100 is a scam. I want one that looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie. The kids pick a favorite while we circle trees, muttering. Eventually, we compromise: a tree just over his budget and just under my expectations. Tradition.


Getting it set up? Always a mess. He’s on the floor wrestling with screws. I’m pretending to be helpful while dodging pine needles. Mariah Carey’s on blast. The tree leans like it’s had one too many coquitos. Nothing says holiday spirit like yelling “IS IT STRAIGHT NOW?” every 12 seconds.


I want to be the mom with curated Christmas bins and a gift spreadsheet, sipping peppermint mochas while pulling perfectly wrapped presents from a year-round stash. But I’m the mom panic-scrolling at midnight, praying expedited shipping saves Christmas without wrecking the budget. And then there’s the Elf. That smug little spy. Every year starts strong, zip lines, flour snow angels, marshmallow scenes. Then I forget to move him. For days.

Still, I wouldn’t trade it. We’re juggling magic for the youngest while protecting it for the older ones. In our house, we don’t say Santa out loud unless we’re ready to play highstakes truth or consequences. The rule is: don’t believe, don’t receive. We don’t mess with magic distribution.


Another rule is: we don’t travel for Christmas. I want my kids to wake up in their own home and see their tree. It’s sacred, even if it comes with sugar crashes, sibling fights, and batteries not included. It matters. All of it.

Because even with the chaos, the forgotten elf, the crooked tree, the mismatched socks, there’s beauty. I may not have an Instagram worthy porch, but I show up. I wrap gifts in a hurry. I forget the elf, but I never forget the hot chocolate after we decorate. I might not have it all together, but somehow, I hold it all together. That’s the grit.


And the gratitude? It sneaks in between the glitter mess and the late-night wrapping. In the way my son still gets excited for Santa. In the way my daughters buy each other gifts without being asked. In knowing these traditions are sticking, even if the elf sometimes isn’t.

The kids won’t remember the chaos. They’ll remember the lights. The smells. The laughter. The tree that leans but holds every memory we’ve made.

So, here’s to the moms doing the juggle. The tired ones still trying. The ones running on coffee, chaos, and three kinds of pie. We are the magic makers. Even if the magic sometimes shows up last minute…and says the elf is on a break.