A Christmas Tree Farmer is NOT a Retirement Plan

Every year about this time, I lose countless friends and family members to binge-watching Hallmark Christmas movies. 

Why?

Before I’m flooded with messages from all you Hallmark fans out there, I want you to know that I’m not criticizing this obsession.  My own mother loves these shows.  And I have to admit, Hallmark has made Christmas shopping considerably easier. 

There's a Hallmark throw blanket for the friend who has everything, a Hallmark hot chocolate mug for the friend who doesn't, and cozy Hallmark Christmas slippers for the friend who apparently plans to spend the entire month of December on her sofa.

You can knock out half your Christmas list with one trip to the Hallmark store, pick up some festive wrapping paper and thoughtful Christmas paper, and leave feeling like you’ve made a meaningful contribution to the holiday season without having to give it too much serious thought.

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I just question whether or not the plot lines of a lot of these movies deserve the rabid attention they receive from so many people. 

I practiced law for many years and I can honestly say that if a colleague of mine ever left law practice to move to a small New England town, buy a bakery known for its award-winning gingerbread, and marry a hot-looking recently widowed Christmas tree farmer, it would be the talk of the office.  And not in a good way.  

Although, now that I think about it, she’d probably be right in assuming we were all just very jealous.

One thing I’ve noticed is that you never see a realistic mother figure in these movies.  She’s either a kindly widow dispensing wisdom over hot chocolate or a female Scrooge who disapproves of everything. There isn’t much in between. 

Where is the mother who wants to know why her daughter is throwing away her law degree to save a struggling gingerbread shop?

And if one of my sons called and told me he'd fallen in love with a woman who runs a Christmas tree farm and was quitting his job in finance to help her, I'd have several questions.

Starting with, "Where are you, how much have you had to drink, and is there someone who can drive you home?"

I'd also want to know whether this woman has health insurance and if she happens to have an MBA.

But apparently Hallmark mothers don't concern themselves with such trivial matters. They're too busy knitting scarves and telling their children to follow their hearts.

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The husbands in these movies don’t feel very genuine either.  They are a little too perfect.

Don’t get me wrong.  My husband has many wonderful qualities, but he has never suggested we spend an afternoon selecting handmade ornaments while sipping peppermint cocoa.

I’m also not sure what these movies are teaching the next generation.  Is there no joy in marrying an accountant? Is financial stability really so unromantic? Must every successful woman abandon her career to discover that her true calling is baking cinnamon rolls? 

And who has time to close up shop in the middle of the afternoon to go on a sleigh ride or engage in a spontaneous snowball fight?

Everyone in any town in a Hallmark movie, that’s who.

These people are forever leaving their businesses unattended to attend tree-lighting ceremonies, decorate gingerbread houses, or take moonlit walks through the snow.

No wonder their businesses are struggling.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m good with escaping for a couple of hours of entertainment. And who doesn’t like a happy ending, even if it’s incredibly unbelievable, offers false hope, and makes us all feel inadequate about our own lives?

Still I think Hallmark is missing a golden opportunity.  I’d like to see a Christmas movie about a real woman.  One who spent thirty years making the holiday magical for everyone else.

She doesn’t inherit a bakery.  She doesn’t marry a tree farmer. And she certainly has no time for a spontaneous sleigh ride.

She’s too busy trying to figure out who’s coming for Christmas dinner, why the outdoor lights quit working, and how a family of four can go through eight rolls of wrapping paper with no one knowing where they keep the Scotch tape.

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In the final scene, her adult children come home, put their dishes in the dishwasher without being asked, and take all their belongings with them when they leave. 

Now THAT would be a Christmas miracle.