Survivor. That's what I'm hoping to be. Striving to make it through another day of post-Christmas chaos. How sad that the most sacred holiday of all often ends up being the most stressful. I promised myself I wouldn't stress this year, and I was fairly successful for the most part. I didn't get tore up about my baking projects, and simply rolled with the punches when something didn't turn out right, or when I ran out of time. I didn't beat myself up for eating Ryan's little container of candy... I simply made him another one. (And then forgot to take it to my mom's... but a quick phone call to Whitney solved that issue. And then a second quick phone call took care of Alissa's gift - that I had also forgotten to take). The weeks leading up to Christmas, though busy indeed, didn't get the best of me and the stress-o-meter was well below the danger zone. All that said, and as happy as I am to report it... it's the days following Christmas that may be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I'm ready to get the house back in order. I'm not so worried about the den, which is now serving as Leyland and Corey's personal Playground Wonderland. It's the kitchen, the bathroom, My Room.... all the dirty laundry, the clean laundry waiting to be folded. All the remnants of gift unwrapping are nicely stuffed into one large and one small box, awaiting their final destination in the dumpster. Mary's gifts are packed in large tote bags, awaiting delivery to her mom's house when she goes home on Thursday. Corey and Leyland's new clothes are stacked neatly in my room, waiting to be tried on, stripped of their tags, then off to the laundry before wearing. All their new jammies are freshly laundered, waiting to be folded and put away. Tiny pieces of sparkly and glittery things lie about the floor in my room, left over from wrapping and embellishing. All manner of "things" are out of place, and it's driving me nuts. So to say that I hope to be a survivor is putting it mildly. There's this characteristic I have that defies understanding. I can tolerate clutter and an untidy room/house... to a point. I can tolerate it sometimes for days on end. But once I pass that point, it really gets on my last nerve and I think I will spontaneously combust before I can get it rectified. I passed that point about 1:57 Sunday afternoon... and I've been taking slow breaths in and out, in and out. Saturday I was able to take a nap amidst all the chaos, and be a little bit lazy. And wouldn't you know it, my jumping off point had to hit me Sunday afternoon.... when I had to work and couldn't do anything about it. Then late Sunday evening when Whitney couldn't find her work folder... I was starting to reach for the panic button. Bless her heart, that apple didn't fall far from the tree. She told me she remembered putting it in a "safe place", because the rest of the house is so out of control right now. I just looked at her when she said that, and knew we were in trouble. "A Safe Place" at The 409 is translated: "It will never, ever be seen again." About two seconds before I pushed the panic button, I found the folder. That can only mean one thing: I will survive the madness, and one day soon - THIS WEEK, we will get our home back to some semblance of normalcy. But please don't come visit me this week. And you might want to give me a call if you're planning on next week. There may be several episodes of spontaneous combustion before it's all over with. But I'm confident that in the end, I will survive.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Survivor!
Survivor. That's what I'm hoping to be. Striving to make it through another day of post-Christmas chaos. How sad that the most sacred holiday of all often ends up being the most stressful. I promised myself I wouldn't stress this year, and I was fairly successful for the most part. I didn't get tore up about my baking projects, and simply rolled with the punches when something didn't turn out right, or when I ran out of time. I didn't beat myself up for eating Ryan's little container of candy... I simply made him another one. (And then forgot to take it to my mom's... but a quick phone call to Whitney solved that issue. And then a second quick phone call took care of Alissa's gift - that I had also forgotten to take). The weeks leading up to Christmas, though busy indeed, didn't get the best of me and the stress-o-meter was well below the danger zone. All that said, and as happy as I am to report it... it's the days following Christmas that may be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I'm ready to get the house back in order. I'm not so worried about the den, which is now serving as Leyland and Corey's personal Playground Wonderland. It's the kitchen, the bathroom, My Room.... all the dirty laundry, the clean laundry waiting to be folded. All the remnants of gift unwrapping are nicely stuffed into one large and one small box, awaiting their final destination in the dumpster. Mary's gifts are packed in large tote bags, awaiting delivery to her mom's house when she goes home on Thursday. Corey and Leyland's new clothes are stacked neatly in my room, waiting to be tried on, stripped of their tags, then off to the laundry before wearing. All their new jammies are freshly laundered, waiting to be folded and put away. Tiny pieces of sparkly and glittery things lie about the floor in my room, left over from wrapping and embellishing. All manner of "things" are out of place, and it's driving me nuts. So to say that I hope to be a survivor is putting it mildly. There's this characteristic I have that defies understanding. I can tolerate clutter and an untidy room/house... to a point. I can tolerate it sometimes for days on end. But once I pass that point, it really gets on my last nerve and I think I will spontaneously combust before I can get it rectified. I passed that point about 1:57 Sunday afternoon... and I've been taking slow breaths in and out, in and out. Saturday I was able to take a nap amidst all the chaos, and be a little bit lazy. And wouldn't you know it, my jumping off point had to hit me Sunday afternoon.... when I had to work and couldn't do anything about it. Then late Sunday evening when Whitney couldn't find her work folder... I was starting to reach for the panic button. Bless her heart, that apple didn't fall far from the tree. She told me she remembered putting it in a "safe place", because the rest of the house is so out of control right now. I just looked at her when she said that, and knew we were in trouble. "A Safe Place" at The 409 is translated: "It will never, ever be seen again." About two seconds before I pushed the panic button, I found the folder. That can only mean one thing: I will survive the madness, and one day soon - THIS WEEK, we will get our home back to some semblance of normalcy. But please don't come visit me this week. And you might want to give me a call if you're planning on next week. There may be several episodes of spontaneous combustion before it's all over with. But I'm confident that in the end, I will survive.
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