Who among us in today’s world does not remember the superbly humorous Erma Bombeck? She was a woman who saw something funny in all aspects of life, even in the hardest and sometimes saddest moments.

Erma said: “There is nothing sadder in this world than waking up on Christmas morning and not being a child.” What a moving and revealing comment. As adults, we run and run and worry. Have we bought gifts for everyone that we need to buy for . . . and enough? Do we decorate the house and does it look as good as the neighbor’s house? What are we going to do for Christmas dinner? Who are we going to invite? Who can’t we invite, without insulting too many people?

Can we really afford all this?

There are very few things we don’t worry about on vacation. For a time of year that is supposed to define universal love, happiness, and hope, it has instead become a season where dollar signs are the most predominant visions we see dancing in our heads day after day. day. . . instead of sugar plums (what are they, anyway?!). So many things to do, and really only a few months to do it all. Usually Christmas Eve rolls around and we’re all still running around, by then with a glassy, ​​battle-weary look in our eyes, stalking the mall aisles for anything—anything!—that’s still around. on the shelves. Oh no! We forgot about Uncle Arthur. . . there! He grabs that, that. . . whatever, right there. It’s green and he likes green.

And why do so many of us let all of this wrap up until the last minute, often just seconds after 12:01 on Christmas morning? There are still dozens of us sitting on the living room floor in the early hours of the morning, papers strewn everywhere, three tape dispensers in various places around us, packages in two places: on one side of us , those we have already wrapped (within the last hour) and on the other side of us, the mountain of gifts still waiting for festive dressing. Christmas music wafts through the air, as if we’re happy to be sticking pieces of tape between two uneven ends of a too-small piece of wrapping paper, desperately trying to make it fit. Our Santa nightgown is pulled up to our knees and if Santa were to find us right now, he’d take away our membership in the Pretend-Santa club.

Back up for a moment, folks. Give yourself a breather and allow yourself a few very deep breaths. How many of our relatives are really going to nail us if that package looks a bit like a drunken leprechaun decorated it? Even more, how many children will care? Actually. When my kids were little, most of their packages were wrapped up in Sunday comics. . . and at Christmas, they were the comics on holiday Sundays. Oh really. And guess what? They loved it, they LOVED it!

And there was a bit of Erma in that practice. She made me feel like a kid using the comics. Joking. Fun. A bit on the silly side. I couldn’t help but smile every time she pushed my ink-stained fingers away and looked at my literally comical artwork.

It all comes down to a really very simple ideology. Get serious about the love and excitement of the holidays. DO NOT take the hype seriously. Make every Christmas practice fun: fill the house with lights, decorate the tree, address the Christmas cards, get the steaming and delicious-smelling cookies out of the oven. Even when you’re deciding whether or not to go into battle with the other moms at the toy store over the latest tech job for your darling son. . . you must be in the game. You must have fun.

There is no other way to celebrate Christmas. If you’re not having fun, folks, you’re not doing it right. And if you’re not sure, remember Erma. If you wake up on Christmas morning and you’re anything but happy and ready to roll down the stairs with all the other kids, anything but ready to face the day with a smile on your face and mischievous giggles in your heart, anything but anticipate all the joy of the full day of playtime ahead, playtime no matter what you’re doing. . . That, my dear adult children, will be a very sad day indeed.

And Christmas should never be sad. We can be kids again, if only for that day.