playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

My specialty as of late is procrastinating.  At some point in my life, I was a self-starter, someone who accomplished things I set out to do, but now I just put things off until the elusive and completely unreachable “later.”  I’m not sure what happened to me, but I’m guessing it was CHILDREN.

These aren’t fully conscious decisions, to procrastinate.  As I’m finishing the whole plate of nachos or the next handful of cookies, I think to myself, “well I better treat myself now, because after the holidays I’m going to start eating healthier.”  But since I tell myself this lie every time I eat, it’s become more of a habit rather than a conscious and true goal.  It’s not just with food, though, that I do this.  It’s with my relationships and my personal goals, too.

I’ve been living behind the weighted veil of having just moved, telling myself that I can’t possibly start making friends or finding a preschool for Carson , or do ANYTHING until we live in our house, until after the holidays, until I have a new cell phone, until the decorations are put away.  There’s always an excuse.

My “later” is January 5th, today.  It’s by my life’s circumstances that it just so happens to be the beginning of the year that I’ve set this date, rather than the whole New Year’s resolutions thing.  I certainly could have chosen any random date, maybe February 8th or April 22nd, but January 5th seemed right.

Of course, January 5th has been peeking around the corner and knowingly pointing at me for months.  There has been no reason good enough that I couldn’t have started tackling my to-do list, my personal self-improvements, but it’s almost as if I’ve been wearing concrete boots with my inability to get started.

January 5th is supposed to be my jumping off point.  It’s supposed to be, but now that it’s here, I don’t know if I have the energy to start fresh again.  I’m tired.  I’m scared of what actually DOING something could mean for me.  What if I actually have to get off my butt and what if I actually accomplish something?

Today is the day I’ve set to become the new me, the one who is organized, the woman who is seen walking everyday through the neighborhood, the mother who rarely yells at her children.  Today I become a more supportive wife, more patient and loving with Tate.  Today is the day that I become the writer I want to be, embracing my own voice, and being proud of what I write.

I’ve told myself that January 5th is the day that I’ll pick up the phone, like I’ve had to do too many times before and take that first step in making friends for myself and my kids.  My fear of calling people I don’t know will be put on the backburner while I become articulate and funny, even likable.

Today.

As luck would have it, well…MY luck, it started pouring down rain as Carson, Ella, and I were leaving Target, the umbrella in our car parked at the opposite end of the parking lot.

With my hands full getting Ella’s hood up, I was unable to help Carson as he tried unsuccessfully to put the hood up on his own coat.

“Mommy!” he huffed.  “I CAN’T GET IT UP!”  he shouted.  And I mean REALLY shouted.

An older, bordering on elderly, gentleman and his wife, passing us in the parking lot, looked directly at us and without missing a beat said, “Me either, kiddo.”  He smiled and winked.

His wife’s eyes and mouth opened wide in horror as she grabbed his arm a little too roughly.  “Lighten up, Alice,” he said with a shrug.

So Christmas was mostly good, just look at how happy my children are.  The part of Christmas that didn’t make the cut of “mostly good” was the barfing of four out of nine of members of my family on and around Christmas, which sort of put a damper on the celebration.

If I’m being honest, I just wasn’t feeling it this Christmas season despite my every effort to feel joy and merriment.  For goodness sakes, I listened to Christmas music everyday leading up to the baby Jesus’ birthday and I ate sugar cookies with sprinkles, and decorated a damned gingerbread house.  If all that isn’t jolly, I don’t know what is.  Of course, in hindsight, I’m realizing that listening to Christmas music EVERYday and eating so many cookies could have possibly been a factor in my discontent.

And there’s the whole “woe is me, I moved away from my beloved Indiana” thing, too that could have contributed to my lack of holiday spirit.  I’m certain you’re as tired of hearing about my move AGAIN as I am about FEELING this way.  Seriously, if I could just GET OVER it, I would, OKAY.  You just try moving twice in one year and see if your stress level starts sending out warning alarms and if you feel the magic of Christmas.  I’m trying very hard to make the healing process speedier, dammit.  *Huff*  Proof of my effort:  I’ve made a list of things to do each day that usually help me feel better.

1.  Make my bed everyday.
2.  Shower and get dressed everyday and apply at least some make-up.
3.  Stop eating when I’m full instead of eating til I’m stuffed and end up feeling even worse.
4.  Use expensive soaps, shampoos, and lotions.
5.  Watch DVR’d episodes of The Hills, Real Housewives, and Top Chef.

Apparently cleanliness and trash TV are my Prozac.  Also:  being somewhat shallow.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready to see a year pass.  Good riddance 2008.  I’m desperately pleading for an uneventful 2009.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you were blessed with joy, happiness, and gifts.  I also hope that those gifts were certified by your local Chinese buffet.

‘Twas the night before Christmas Eve Eve
And all throughout my house
Chaos and toys had taken over
I shrugged and said, “It’s time to get soused.”

The wine glasses were filled to the brim with care
in hopes that a cleaning fairy soon would be there
With Tate wrapping presents and I frantically dusting
I suddenly yelled, “This bathroom’s disgusting.”

When down in the basement there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my duties to see what was the matter
Away to the kids’ rooms, I flew in a flash
But the kids were asleep lightning fast.

Tate mentioned something about my “moon” and my breasts
I just rolled my eyes at this wonky sex attempt, as you probably guessed
He retreated in defeat and went back to wrapping
I finished up cleaning and yearned for some napping

With an arm full of gifts, Tate came upstairs
I rummaged through the gifts to catch any spares
One for Carson, for Ella, for Tate, and for Nanny
For Papa, Uncle J, Aunt M, and for me

From Etsy, From Amazon, I already knew
Two more boxes, surprises!
How exciting!
Phew!

My eyes how they twinkled!
This Christmas would be merry!
Even though my butt is all dimpled
and my fat rolls are like jelly

I spoke not a word, but went straight to work
I tugged on Tate’s hand and said, “you deserve a perk!”
We went back to the bedroom, for cuddles and kisses
Tate was quite pleased to get all of his wishes

And I heard him exclaim as he drifted off to sleep,
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.  I got you surprises to keep.”

(Slightly edited version originally published last year.)

Tate is completely incapable of keeping my Christmas gifts a secret.

Oh wait, I already wrote this post LAST YEAR.

This year, though, Tate has taken his lack of secret keeping to new levels.

When I like something, particularly when we’re getting close to Christmas, I make sure to drop obvious hints to my husband to help guide him in his gift purchasing endeavors.  I do this because I’m an awesome wife and also to make sure he doesn’t buy me a vacuum or a crock pot for Christmas.  So my “hinting” this year has centered around my adoration of Etsy and showing him w-w-w dot etsy dot com and showing him my wishlist on Amazon.com.

Tate tries to be sweet, he truly does.  He bought me a gift from Etsy.  And he bought me several gifts from my wishlist on Amazon.  Sweet, right?

Here’s where he went wrong, though.  He used MY Etsy account and MY Paypal account to buy the gift on Etsy.  And he used MY Amazon.com account to buy my gifts from Amazon.  All these things are linked to MY email address.

I suppose that I should look at this like instead of unwrapping my presents Christmas morning and being surprised, I was suprised when I opened my email and got a sneak peak at my gifts.

(This picture is SO inappropriate. I LOVE it!)  (photo source)

Let’s talk about eggnog.

My opinion about eggnog is this:  I like…well LIKE is not entirely accurate…I’ll obligingly HAVE one very small glass during the holiday season, served ICE cold, and I do mean ICE cold with a splash of whiskey.   After that I do not want another glass until the following year, when Christmas tradition dictates that I drink it.  In fact, I don’t really want to be in the same room with eggnog after my token glass.  Just watching others drink it and seeing the thick remnants on the glass makes me feel a little sick on the inside.

My husband on the other hand would swim laps in eggnog if I allowed it.  He guzzles glass after glass, practically tonguing the glass to get every.last.drop.  (That last sentence isn’t entirely true.  He actually stands at the refrigerator and tongues it straight from the carton.  *shudder*)

I just cannot imagine!  The thickness!  The richness!  The word “nog.”  It’s too much, I say!  It’s too much!  Blech.

Where do you stand on this most important of holiday issues?

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I’d like to congratulate Amy from Pretty Babies, the “lucky” winner of my copy of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer.    Amy, I really hope you like it more than I did.