One year I’d like to be like some folks you know who just have the holidays appear Christmas morning. Presents materialize from do-gooder yuletide aliens. Winter Fairies leave perfectly wrapped gifts with juicy silver bows. Trunk monkeys with jingle bells do all the grocery shopping and pre-holiday food preparations. Someone else thinks to have enough toilet paper on hand for all the extra guests so we can busy ourselves with more glamorous deeds. They remember which cousins have allergies to nuts and make gluten-free cookies for the kids to give to asshole ex-husbands. Intelligent holiday ferrets remember what kind of groovy girl dolls the nieces liked in May so they can leave it for them under the tree six months later. Magical gerbils fill the stockings with holiday cheer and gift cards that correlate with your actual life. Industrious dwarfs cook pecan pies and chocolate cakes from scratch.What would happen if mothers across the world rebelled and went on strike for the holidays? You know, if mothers caught a group flight to Barbados and chain smoked cigarettes after leaving our rum drink order with hunky Eduardo (damn. Not a celebrity. Not on The List…) leaving everyone else to mete out Christmas cheer from the offerings one can grab in a hurry from a 7-11 convenience store. Would it matter? I like to think it would, but maybe mothers do all this holiday shit for themselves? We’re creating memories here, people!