How I Keep the Holidays Low-Stress with Simple Tips from Ellie Kemper

As the calendar turns to December 2026, I’ve finally stopped chasing that mythical, magazine-cover holiday perfection. Two years ago, a conversation with actress and real-life mom Ellie Kemper completely shifted my mindset, and I’ve never looked back. She taught me that festive doesn’t have to mean frazzled, and that joy often hides in the small, imperfect moments. Here’s how I weave her philosophy into my own celebrations—maybe it’ll help your season feel lighter, too.

I used to spend every November poring over elaborate décor plans, determined to transform my entire house into a winter wonderland. But after hearing Kemper say she doesn’t overhaul her home, I realized I was exhausting myself before the first guest even arrived. Now, I borrow her strategy of scattering festive accents around instead of tearing everything apart. A cluster of cinnamon-scented pillar candles on the coffee table, a stack of holly-rimmed plates in the kitchen, and a single strand of warm white lights draped over the mantel are enough to signal that the season has arrived. The rest of the house stays calm and familiar, which makes daily life feel cozy rather than chaotic. My kids actually prefer this approach—they don’t miss the boxes of fragile figurines, and they’re proud when they get to place a glittery reindeer exactly where they want, even if it ends up guarding the bathroom sink.

Speaking of kids, mine are now seven and ten, and I’ve fully adopted Kemper’s philosophy about letting them drive the decorating train sometimes. I walk in to find construction-paper snowflakes taped to the television and a garland of popcorn draped across the dog’s crate, and instead of wincing, I laugh. Those wonky, lopsided additions carry so much more warmth than the catalog displays I used to stress over. Kemper nailed it when she said as a mom you’re constantly pivoting from the plan—and that those pivots are where the best memories live.

When I host, which I’m finally brave enough to do now, I follow her hybrid food rule. I make two or three heritage recipes that mean something to my family (my grandmother’s cinnamon rolls and a savory bread pudding), then I supplement with a charcuterie board from the local market and a tray of store-bought mini desserts. Nobody has ever complained that the spinach puffs weren’t homemade. To keep the kids entertained while I’m plating the main course, I’ve set up a “creation station” in the corner with a bin of LEGO bricks, just as Kemper suggested. It’s genius—they build elaborate holiday-themed contraptions, and the adults get thirty uninterrupted minutes to chat and toss the salad. I also scatter a few board games nearby so the slightly older cousins can jump into something cooperative without any screen time.

One of my biggest takeaways from Kemper’s approach is the sacred mini-break. I used to run nonstop until I collapsed on December 26th, but now I carve out five-minute pauses throughout the day. When the boys are deep into a movie marathon—our household tradition is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation every Christmas Eve—I’ll slip away to my bedroom. I light a balsam and cedar candle that instantly lowers my shoulders by an inch, lie on the bed, and press a hydrating sheet mask onto my face. I breathe deeply and visualize the noise of the day melting away. That tiny act of resetting makes me a calmer, more playful parent when I walk back out. Kemper is right: it’s not selfish, it’s maintenance.

Gift-giving has also become simpler. I’ve stopped obsessing over finding the one perfect thing and instead lean into practical presents I’d actually want myself. My mom is getting a plush, hooded bathrobe in a soft sage green—the kind Kemper defended so passionately. I used to think bathrobes were a lazy gift, but when I received one last year, I realized I wore it every single morning. Now I see them as a hug you can step into, and my mom deserves a fresh one without having to justify the closet space. For my younger nieces and nephews, I combine a small toy with matching holiday pajamas. Kemper’s tradition of gifting the whole gang Grinch or Peanuts slumber gear is now our tradition, too. Those first photos of everyone in candy-cane-striped sleep sets are among my most treasured bits of the season.

Even mishaps feel gentler now. I remember Kemper’s story about buying keychains at the Cincinnati airport for her family and still standing by that choice. It taught me that intention matters far more than extravagance. Last year, when my online order for personalized ornaments got lost in the mail, I didn’t panic. I pulled out some blank wooden circles from the craft drawer, handed the kids paint markers, and we turned the living room into a mini workshop. The resulting ornaments were lopsided and splattered, and they are absolutely my favorites. That’s the energy I want to bottle: effortless, laugh-filled, and centered on our people rather than on appearances.

So as you move through this 2026 holiday season, I hope you borrow a little of that Kemper spirit. Set out a few cheerful accents without pressure. Let the kids redecorate the staircase. Buy a pre-made pie and call it a collaboration. Lie down with a candle and a face mask for five stolen minutes. And if someone gifts you an airport keychain, remember there’s probably a great story behind it—and that’s what sticks around long after the tinsel is packed away.