Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year, they say. Whoever “they” are clearly didn’t have to coordinate school nativity costumes, work deadlines, Secret Santa for seventeen different groups, and the small matter of keeping tiny humans fed, entertained, and vaguely civilised throughout a two-week break.
For working parents, December isn’t magical—it’s a full-contact sport. Self-employed? Add that delightful 24/7 mindset where your brain never quite switches off and you’ve got yourself a proper festive nightmare wrapped in tinsel.
Here’s what I’ve learned: you can actually enjoy Christmas with kids. Not the Instagram version with matching pyjamas and elaborate Elf on the Shelf scenarios. The real version, where you’re occasionally horizontal, sometimes laughing, and definitely not white-knuckling your way through every moment.
The trick? Lower your standards, raise your boundaries, and remember that rest isn’t selfish—it’s strategic. When you drag yourself back to work in January running on fumes and Quality Street, you’re no good to anyone.
1. Switch Off from Work—And Actually Mean It
Draw a proper line:
Pick your last working day and commit to it. My deadline? 12pm Friday 19th December. Anything after that time can go hang. Am I frantically trying to finish everything? Yes. Will my work world be perfect when I down tools? Probably not. And that’s completely okay.
If you don’t finish everything, the world keeps spinning. Your clients survive. Your projects wait. But your mental health? Your family? They can’t wait until you’ve ticked every box.
Set your out-of-office. Put work apps on mute (or if you’re like me and physically can’t stop yourself—actually delete them. I’ve done this. It works). My back-to-work day is Tuesday 6th January. Monday 5th is for me—catch-up-read-emails-and-panic-about-what-happened day. Your mileage may vary.
That first evening off:
You’ll still be mentally answering phantom emails. Do something deliberately un-work-like. Ridiculous Christmas jumper. Brain-dead film. Inappropriate Friday teatime food. Your brain needs a hard reset.
Boundaries matter:
If someone messages about work during your break, they can wait. If it’s genuinely urgent, they know where you live. And if they don’t respect your boundaries? That’s a January conversation.
2. Prep Smart, Not Perfect
The Pinterest version involves hand-embroidered stockings and twenty types of homemade biscuits. The real version involves finding clean socks and remembering to buy milk.
What actually matters:
Not what should matter to some imaginary perfect family. What matters to YOUR specific humans. Maybe it’s a chaotic schedule that makes organised people wince. Maybe it’s leftovers on Boxing Day because you’ve earned a kitchen boycott. That’s your list. Everything else is optional.
My unorthodox approach:
I prep the entire Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. The whole thing. Why? Because it’s infinitely easier when you’ve got a house full of teenage band geeks being loud, messy, obnoxious, and downright loveable. Three out of four will still be out carolling on Christmas Eve anyway, so I’ve got the kitchen to myself.
Christmas Day? Breakfast is the starter. Yes, you heard me—prawn cocktail for breakfast. Bite me. By the time everyone’s hungry and the noise has reached peak chaos, the turkey’s cooked. Main course gets demolished. Then it’s help-yourself-at-teatime to whatever puddings are in the fridge. Full-day grazing. It works.
Boxing Day? I do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in the kitchen. LeftoversRUs. Everyone fends for themselves. That’s my boundary and I guard it fiercely.
If that sounds shocking, accept it as an early Christmas present from me.
Shortcuts work:
Shop-bought mince pies. An Aldi Specially Selected Black Forest Gateau. Nobody’s deathbed regrets include “I should have made that cranberry sauce from scratch.” Life is short. Buy the cranberry sauce.
3. Fresh Air Is Everything
Dog walks = bliss:
Kick them all out—kids, dogs, the lot. Peace. Quiet. No constant random chatter from the neurodivergent contingent (good job I love them).
We do proper trips out too. Cricket on an isolated Yorkshire beach in December? Brilliant. Rambling through Sherwood Forest? Perfect. When it’s freezing, nobody else is mental enough to be outside. You get all the space.
Strategic screen time:
Christmas film marathon in pyjamas until noon? Fine. Blanket fort, snacks, peace for you. You’re not raising them in a television—you’re surviving a chaotic fortnight.
Adult sanctuary:
After 9pm, I don’t care if the kids are 4 or 24—that’s our time. They can watch TV, listen to music, talk with friends, sleep, whatever. But they tootle off and leave me and my husband to some quiet peace.
(He still does his usual trick of talking to me every 15 minutes when I’m reading, but that’s marriage.)
4. The Foster Care Reality
Let’s talk about something that doesn’t make it into the glossy Christmas content: Christmas with foster kids.
It’s complicated in ways people don’t always understand. These kids are getting used to new traditions, new rules, new everything—and Christmas has a habit of bringing it all to the surface. They can get wobbly. Really wobbly. And that’s completely okay.
This is a completely different family, a different Christmas, a different life. Whether they’ve been with us five years or six months, there’s usually a moment where it hits home. The weight of it. The strangeness of it. We roll with it. We make space for the wobbles. We don’t try to fix it or paper over it with forced festive cheer.
Sometimes Christmas reminds them of what they’ve lost, or what they never had, or just how different everything is now. And sometimes, they’re absolutely fine and you’re the one overthinking it. Either way, there’s no rulebook for this—you just have to be present and let them feel whatever they’re feeling.
Cardboard tubes from wrapping paper? Excellent for safe, cathartic bonking when someone needs to whack something (or someone) without causing actual damage. Trust me on this.
If your family situation is complicated—fostering, step-families, estrangement, blended chaos, whatever—give yourself permission to do what works for YOUR people. Not what Hallmark says should happen. Not what your neighbour’s doing. What actually works for the humans in your house, right now, this Christmas.
5. Embrace The Mess
Someone will cry. Something will break. You’ll overcook something. A child will meltdown over the wrong satsuma.
When you look back at Christmases past, 90% of the fun IS the disasters, the imperfections, the memories made despite the chaos.
Everyone pulls their weight:
Loading the dishwasher. Prepping veg. Sorting the wrapping paper mountain. Kids included. Nobody gets a free pass.
What kids remember:
Not perfect table settings. The fun bits. The inappropriate comments. The year something went spectacularly wrong and everyone laughed. They want you present and relatively cheerful, not performing perfection.
6. Rest Isn’t Optional—It’s Essential
Here’s something we need to get straight: rest isn’t a luxury you earn after you’ve done everything perfectly. It’s not the reward for being superhuman. It’s a basic requirement for being human at all.
Micro-breaks absolutely count:
Five minutes sitting down with a hot drink whilst the kids are distracted? That’s rest. Take it. Don’t fill it with scrolling or planning or mental to-do lists. Just sit. Breathe. Exist for a moment without being useful to anyone.
Your evenings matter:
After 9pm in our house, when the kids have tootled off, I do something that isn’t productive. Not life admin. Not planning tomorrow. Not checking work emails “just quickly.” Something that actually refills my tank—reading, watching something daft, just sitting in the quiet. It’s not selfish. It’s survival.
Saying no is allowed:
“We’re keeping it low-key this year” is a complete sentence. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for protecting your energy. If a social invitation feels more like an obligation than enjoyment, you can decline. Your well-being matters more than someone else’s guest list.
7. You’re Human—And That’s Enough
Be realistic about what you can manage:
You’re not Mary Poppins. You’re not required to create magical festive memories whilst simultaneously being calm, organised, and photogenic. You’re a regular human trying to keep multiple plates spinning whilst teenagers practise their sarcasm and someone asks “why?” seventeen times about the same thing.
I embrace what I call the Fux It In A Bucket mindset. If something can go wrong, it probably will. The joys of self-employment (24/7 mindset, anyone?), fostering (because nothing adds festive joy quite like complex trauma responses), and having a house full of band geeks (aged 13 to 24—each bringing their own special brand of chaos) means I’ve learnt to expect disasters rather than perfection.
When you expect chaos, you’re not disappointed when things go sideways. You’re just proved right. And honestly? There’s something quite freeing about that.
Rest without the guilt:
You’re allowed to sit down when the children are occupied. You’re allowed to close your eyes. You’re allowed to do absolutely nothing. Rest isn’t something you earn through productivity—it’s a basic human need. You’re not a machine. Stop acting like one.
Hold your boundaries:
Mine? I’m back at work Tuesday 6th January, fully recharged and ready to face the new year with the same determination as last year. Not before. Not when someone panics on Christmas Eve. Not when an email comes through on Boxing Day. January 6th. Because my family needs me properly present, I need actual rest, and my work will genuinely survive the wait.
Your boundaries might look different. That’s fine. But set them, communicate them clearly, and then actually stick to them. You’re not being difficult—you’re being sensible.
Final Thoughts
Christmas isn’t a lifestyle magazine editorial. It’s chaos with tinsel. And honestly? That’s not just okay—it’s actually rather lovely when you stop fighting it.
You are human. That’s not a flaw to overcome—it’s just the truth. And it’s enough.
Prep what actually matters to your family. Skip what doesn’t. Make everyone contribute their fair share. Do Christmas your way, not Pinterest’s way. And if anyone judges your Boxing Day leftovers strategy or your Christmas Eve prep marathon or your 9pm everyone-bugger-off curfew, well, they’re more than welcome to host next year.
The memories your kids will treasure won’t be about perfection. They’ll be about the feelings, the laughter, the disasters that became family legends, and you being there—actually present, rested enough to enjoy it, not completely losing your mind trying to make everything perfect.
You’ve got this. Not because you’re superhuman (you’re not, and that’s fine), but because you’re smart enough to know that good enough truly IS good enough.
Now go set those boundaries, mute (or delete) those work apps, and pour yourself something festive.
You’ve earned it.
P.S. If you’re reading this whilst hiding in the bathroom for five minutes of peace, I see you. Self-employed and panicking about your deadline? Breathe. Foster kids making Christmas complicated? You’re doing brilliantly. Planning to do nothing in the kitchen on Boxing Day? You’re my kind of people.
The Art of Stupidity 