It has become my own holiday tradition… but not one I am fond of. As the world around me starts gearing up for the holidays, I find myself saying, “This year, it will be easier. Enjoyable. This year will be merry.” But then, a delivery vanishes into thin air. A task, seemingly simple, spirals into complexity. And just like that, I’m teetering on the edge of a seemingly sabotaged Christmas catastrophe.

Before I call it quits on Christmas this year, I take a step back. I check under the tree and up the chimney. Because you never can tell—there might just be a gremlin in your holiday. Luckily, this year I know just what to do: Stay calm. Take a breath. And remember the rules…

Everything I Need to Know About Surviving Christmas I Learned from Gremlins

In the pantheon of festive films, Gremlins often lurks in the shadows, not quite embraced as a true Christmas movie. But why?

If there is one modern holiday debate as inevitable and volatile as “what month was Jesus actually born?” it would be: Is Die Hard a Christmas movie? You’d think we were discussing international diplomacy or basic human rights with the level of think pieces, podcasts, and after-dinner showdowns dedicated to this question. Yet, not even a fraction of the impassioned cases for or against Die Hard are made for Gremlins deserving yearly yuletide cinema celebrations. But why?

What elusive alchemy elevates a tale from merely taking place during the holidays to being regarded as a bona fide Christmas classic? Quotability? Unquestionably. Merchandising prowess? Yeah, sure. Of course. But isn’t it also the film’s potential for presenting a universal message? One that resonates through generations and challenges us to discover a better version of ourselves?

If that’s our yardstick, then I submit that Gremlins ascends beyond being a Christmas classic; it’s a holiday revelation, with a message and moral compass as poignant and potent as those in A Christmas Carol or It’s a Wonderful Life. In fact, I’d argue that it offers insights and inspiration that, in today’s world, may resonate more deeply and meet our modern needs more precisely.

Skeptical? Well, let’s peel back the seasonal celluloid and expose how this mischievous tale delivers an unexpectedly poignant Christmas message, proving that the answers to many of our personal holiday havoc have been hiding in plain sight, waiting to be fed.

The proof? It’s right there in the three rules:

Rule #1: Avoid Bright Light

There’s genuine magic to be found in the holidays, even for the most ardent skeptic. It lies in the soft glow of family traditions and the comforting radiance of sincere, giving moments—these are the warm, fluffy Mogwai moments of Christmas.

Yet, take caution. As Christmas’ kaleidoscope whirls, its intensity can morph into the grotesque glare of commercialism. A false lure of light that leads us astray and adrift. Here, there be gremlins. They’re cunning and aggressive and grow more dazzlingly distracting than you might expect, threatening to overshadow the simple serenity of the season. They love the dark… but they covet the shiny.

Step away from the harsh hysteria and the fluorescent frenzy. The most enlightening moments are usually found in the flicker of a fireplace, surrounded by family and friends. Avoid the meltdown of mercantilism. Find the light that nurtures.

I remember the year I got caught in the dazzling trap of holiday perfectionism. Every decoration had to sparkle, every gift had to be wrapped just so. By Christmas Eve, I was as frazzled as a string of burnt-out fairy lights. It took a power outage and an impromptu candlelit game night with my family to remind me of the true warmth of the season.

Rule #2: Don’t Get Christmas Wet

Sure, it starts innocently enough—a quick errand here, a minor plan there. But then, the quest for the perfect party outfit or that hard-to-find gift sets off a cascade. A flicker of concern ignites into a blaze of worry, and worry soon balloons into a storm of pressure. Before you know it, that pressure is palpable, and you’re caught in a sweat.

It takes just one drop to set it off. Then: Pop. Were you supposed to bring a dessert? Pop. Batteries—what sizes do we need? Pop. The idea strikes: perhaps you should send Christmas cards. That’s when it happens: your best intentions cannonball into a swimming pool of obligations. SPLASH! Before your very eyes, that to-do list transforms into a teeming theater of cackling commitments, clamoring for attention.

It’s a savvy reminder to keep your plans manageable, prepare for what you can anticipate, and don’t sweat the things you can’t. After all, much like Gremlins, holiday mishaps thrive when they’re overfed.

Rule #3: NEVER Feed Christmas After Midnight

Grant yourself the gift of time. Savor the wonders that December brings. But a word of caution. One final rule. The most important, in fact. The rule you can never forget:

Beware of your personal midnight hour. It is a tangible juncture marked not by the clock but etched in our hearts and minds. The pivotal point that can separate a sip of merriment from “one more round” of excess. A moment of pause at the threshold of a tasty indulgence and an extra helping of regret. But there is so much more at stake if you ignore this rule.

This metaphorical midnight governs the delicate balance between healthy reflection and the dark chasms of anxiety and sorrow. It’s a fork in the road: meander with melancholy or wander into the dark. In the dark, lurk Mogwai that are far from friends. They have names like “Despair,” “Resentment,” or “Remorse.” They’re dangerous. And they are hungry. To mingle with these Mogwai means the potential to feed them. And that is how monsters are unwittingly unleashed.

Self-awareness stands as our guardian Gizmo, a faithful friend with fur as soft as freshly fallen snow and wisdom as ancient as Saint Nick himself. We must learn to recognize when the joy of the season fades into a shadow, when the busyness overwhelms the quiet moments we so desperately need. Know when your midnight hour of reason has been reached. Cherish the season, without being consumed by it.