It's Christmas season. The time of year I contemplate converting to Judaism. Instead, I am knee-deep in madness. Gifts to buy, wrap, mail and deliver. House to decorate, inside and out. Meals to plan. Cards to write. All on top of laundry to do and bills to pay. Harrison is getting his college applications out. Sam is sick. T has a sinus infection. The coaches want Harrison to go to a podiatrist for a foot issue given Nationals are just a month away. He needs new skates so we need an appointment with the boot guy. Oy.
My normally sweet neighbors/friends are starting to crack. S, the former cheerleader, got so fed up with her Christmas tree (the stand broke) that she shouted, "F--- Christmas!," and threw the tree out the second floor window and onto the front lawn. J, who announced over lunch last week while wearing her favorite Christmas sweater, that her husband thought she should schedule her rotator cuff surgery on the 18th of December beause it would be more convenient for him to do it then, is at home on pain meds and spaced out. Her guests arrive in two days and her husband says everything is "under control." I took her kids out for lunch yesterday and what I saw looked far from "control." J looked at me and said (groggily), "I can't believe I let him talk me into doing this now." And E, who always has it together, showed up at the girls' lunch and let loose two bombshells which I can't disclose here.
By comparison, I have no complaints.
My weight is the same. While that sounds good to everyone but Lyn (who is on my case about losing the last 50--I promised her I would lose the 50 before she got a job), it really is a combination of weight gain (Hershey's Kisses for dinner one night) followed by weight loss (shopping all day and forgetting to eat). I am in survival mode for 3 more days.
The aunts call and ask, "What do you do all day? We haven't seen you in a long time." Long time to them is 4 days and I'm still scrubbing the back of my Lexus from the spill caused by the leaky 35 year-old Creme de Menthe bottle which Aunt X gave me from her late husband's liquor cabinet. She was cleaning out his belongings (finally) and thought I could use a half-gone bottle of aging spirits. The gin is unopened but is also 30 years old. The Bailey's Irish Cream I threw in the trash. I took them to see Christmas lights the other night. Aunt Y fell asleep as soon as we got in the car and wants me to take her again because she missed them.
Christmas.
Bah humbug.
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