Take me off the naughty list
Tuesday, February 04, 2014 9:00 PM
During the holidays, I begin to lose any semblance of control over my life. Late night chats with Santa's elves cause me to lose sleep. Cheeseballs and egg nog cause me to gain weight (15lbs this year). And for some inexplicable reason, between Thanksgiving and Christmas I steadily lose the mental capacity to accomplish even the most basic household tasks. It's like I'm on Santa's naughty list, and instead of putting coal in my stocking, he chooses to sabotage my life.
Ginger is an author, speaker, and mother of five. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org or find her on Facebook (Ginger Truitt-Author) and Twitter (@GingerTruitt).
By December 30th, I thought the holidays would never end. The home-from-college crowd didn't have to be back on campus until January 13th. And whereas hubby typically starts his business travel on the 2nd, this year his first trip was postponed by two weeks. With the little ones missing so much school due to the snow, I really thought I might never get my life back in order.
Typically, I begin to make stabs at normalcy by taking down the tree on Christmas night. But this year, as I began removing ornaments, my five-year-old slid into the room, wide-eyed and frantic.
"Mom! What are you doing?!"
"Taking the tree down, son."
"But it's almost my birfday! The tree is my main party decoration!!"
What kind of wacky weirdo Christmas baby did I give birth to? Everyone knows that children born in December grow up bitter and resentful if their parents do not clearly distinguish between holiday and birthday. Why couldn't he be a normal Christmas child who wants a party with Disney decor, or perhaps a safari theme? Don't get me wrong. I love the holiday right up through 6 p.m. December 25th, but then I want every last vestige removed from sight. So, of course, I would get the kid who wants all the glitz left in place.
Hubby encouraged (or was it admonished?), "It's only three days, Hon. You can handle it!"
December 27th, I stood in the middle of the living room, glassy-eyed and bloated, one hand holding a wet dishrag, the other shielding my eyes from the increasingly obnoxious Christmas lights.
"Listen up, family! Does anyone know why I brought this in here? Was there a spill? Is someone bleeding?"
Daughter glanced up from her phone, "Gross, mom. Why would you bring a dishrag if someone was bleeding?"
"Look, I'm grasping at straws here. I have no idea why I am standing in this room holding a wet dishrag."
Son didn't even look away from his new video game as he remarked, "You've been doing weird stuff like that."
Finally, the holidays are over, hubby is back on the road and my big kids are back on their respective campuses. The blizzard has passed, so the little ones are in school, and I'm in a routine. My house is clean, which pretty much guarantees that no guests will be dropping in unexpectedly. My brain fog is gone, so I'm back to thinking clearly approximately 75 percent of the time. And the Egg Nog and cheeseball weight is officially off, so now I need to tackle those pumpkin pie pounds. I am determined to lose the candy corn weight before the marshmallow Peeps arrive. Hopefully, the Easter Bunny doesn't carry the same vendetta as Santa Claus.