Christmas card family

As I analyze Christmas card designs, my teeth grind from pressure to choose the best life. I see a card featuring a good-looking, mixed race family. The father is unfairly handsome, with longish blonde hair, just the right balance of manly cool and hippie. The mother also has awesome hair and exudes casual perfection. Their daughter is giggling on dad’s lap. They are all laughing in fact. Dad is holding a big Labrador dog. Since the daughter looks around seven years old, I focus on this family. I think “look, see, they are beautiful, and obviously very cool, and only have one child. So, you can be a perfectly enviable family with one child.” And we have two dogs.

I find myself scanning for any family with one child. There aren’t many. I think there are more single parent cards, or cards with large groups of children on a beach, or a dog, or gay couples on their wedding day.

I find one with a couple, clearly in their thirties, with dogs Coco and Tucker in the pictures just where two small children might be. Even in the dog-as-child families, multiples seem standard for a couple.I am not thrown into confusion by the cards with four or five children hanging off their parents’ shoulders like koalas. Yes, it looks nice, but that’s always been a hard no for me. The illusion of the card does not deceive me. It’s the cards with two children that I scrutinize. Do those model parents look happier? Do the children appear more carefree? Is there more love there?

I am most stumped by the artfully candid shots of two-child families. The posed shots only make me think of how much effort the mom put into cultivating her outfit. Did she deliberate between tan ankle booties and black Chelsea boots? Did she question whether to go with the bolder plaid coat over the simple black one? Had she already picked out the card design when the photo was taken, knowing the soft blue and beige ensemble would coordinate perfectly with the gold foil border? These don’t inspire me.

The families who are comfortable enough to send a picture taken mid-smore bite, with whiffle balls strewn across the yard … those families are intriguing. When I see two boys playing in such a picture, I think “oh maybe that is better. Maybe that’s a real family. Maybe they are happier. Look at those two boys. They’re so boyish and fun. They love each other so much. How beautiful they are”. I do try to focus on the font and the card design that will best complement our chosen photo, but the fake families distract me.

When we begin to receive real Christmas cards, the carefully planned portraits are not any more authentic because we know the people. I don’t feel any connection to the people in these portraits. They may as well be Minted models.

Yet I scold myself for not sending the same style card. What kind of mother does not hire a photographer for an October photo shoot? Even more delinquent, how have I let another year pass without managing to get one decent photo of our family together? Our son is five years old. I’m not sure we have even one wall-or-card-worthy photo that contains all three of us. If I put an album together, it would look like my husband and I got divorced sometime around the first birthday celebration.

This year all we have is a couple of selfies taken with masks doubling up our chins. These are obviously not options — I look horrendous. Then I think I should have picked out a nice outfit with an olive-green sweater and done my hair and put on lipstick, like those put-together moms. Why can’t there just be one picture of us all in a field of golden grass, frolicking under a blue sky. I scroll through my camera roll once more.

Okay, just find a photo that makes you smile. One of those funny ones of our son. It will make everyone smile. Everyone will appreciate how fun and casual we are, how we don’t need to prove ourselves to anyone. So, I find one like that, that makes me smile every time I look at it. Then I look more closely. The chef hat is pushing his ears down a bit. There are too many oil bottles on the counter. Will people wonder why we sent this photo? Is this the best representation of our life?

I decide there isn’t one picture that is satisfying enough this year, so the collage format it is. I also really want our dogs in the Christmas card this year. They are members of the family, afterall. And it will look more joyous and distract from our son’s oneness. There is a card design featuring three dogs, a West Highland terrier flanked by a golden retriever and an English bulldog. They are all wearing red capes. The bulldog is wearing a Santa hat. They look like proud members of the VFW, ready for the Christmas parade. I wish I had thought of the red capes, and Santa hats, obviously! There are so many opportunities to get this right.

We tried to do a last-minute photo shoot by the tree, with boy and dogs. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I went through the charade of holding treats above my head after shoving everyone into place. They looked like a bunch of teacups spinning around the living room.

We finally settle on six pictures that capture some range of cuteness and activities. Then I see my parents’ card, and worry that their pictures of us are better than our pictures of us. In addition to photo selection regret, I am annoyed at myself for overpaying, especially since my mom did tell me about the staples deal.

It is maddening how this little tradition occupies an increasing amount of my time and energy each year. My anxiety and indecision over it have reached a clinical stage. Christmas cards are my analog social media. I know they are not real, but their power is too strong. Rational thought is no match. Even the Christmas card display becomes a contest. Look how many friends we have! We can’t even fit them in our front hall, so we’ve created extra space in the dining room and kitchen.

I don’t enjoy sending them. I don’t enjoy getting them. What a Grinch I am, but if I say “oh well it’s nice to have all those images of our friends and family and community, makes me feel connected, and warm and fuzzy and so forth” … that’s not really true. It’s what I tell myself. That’s what I want to feel. Mostly the pictures make me feel inferior, even when I have managed to produce a cute card.

Of course, I still send them. I have not unburdened myself of this duty. There is the obvious rebuttal to my complaints. Just don’t send F-ing cards then. Yes, if I had the guts, I might abandon the whole thing. My obedience to this tradition has one main source: there is too much shame in being crossed off our friends’ and relatives’ Christmas lists. I remember my mother talking about certain distant relations: “They haven’t sent us a card in years. That’s it. They’re off my list. I’m not going to bother to send them a Christmas card anymore.” A harsh punishment indeed.

When this pandemic is over, my son will again visit other people’s houses. He will see walls plastered with cards from every family in town, and from many other families, with dogs and beaches and sweaters and the whole show. He will look at me and ask why we don’t have any Christmas cards in our house. That’s an unbearable image.

Instead, I will continue in my struggle. I will try to overcome my neuroses and appreciate seeing the faces of people in our lives. Some years I may even send a beautifully candid card on time.