I spent Sunday night in bed with a box of tissues. I wasn't sick, and it wasn't for very long, but I was having all of the feels. A missed form that should have gotten turned in to Caitlin's school last week, set my emotional breakdown for November in motion. Because I have an emotional breakdown every month. Because I'm a woman and that's the way of the world.
Having an emotional breakdown in November is a little different from the others however. Yesterday I realized that Christmas is thirty seven days away, and that is not enough time to do all of the things that I want to do. It's not enough time to make ornaments with my kids and bake that thing I pinned three years ago with the excuse that I would get to it next year. I have this overwhelming fear that as I help every customer that comes into Pier 1 trim their tree, my beautiful, gorgeous, expensive, fake tree will stay in it's box as the holiday season passes me by. I'm worried that I will never get to finish my Christmas shopping and everyone, including the kids will get Amazon gift cards that I can buy at Von's while I buy toilet paper and foil which we will inevitably run out of three days before Christmas.
Of course The Hubbs believes no such thing. He said he would put the tree up tomorrow if I'd promise to pull myself together and stop telling the kids that Santa isn't coming. Well I didn't say that in so many words, but Santa is spending all her time at Pier 1, Santa doesn't have time to shop. And that's great that The Hubbs would set the tree up today, but I still want to trim the tree. I want to be here when he switches on the lights and the girls dance in delight that before they can blink, Santa will fill stockings and buy way to many things because Santa is overworked and overstressed and has way to many feels.
And thinking about Christmas got me thinking about the year ending, and that is not good for anyone. I'm a fatalist and every year, as it closes I get emotion thinking about all of the things that have happened that won't happen again. But this year especially, I feel like I've missed so much. How in the world is it November 17th? How did that happen? Caitlin looks and acts like a teenager, and Mackenzie no longer looks like a baby. I dread looking back at my New Year's post from last year and realizing that I didn't make a dent in my "resolutions". I didn't write that book, I didn't write more on this blog, I didn't get to that writing conference. I could say there is always next year, but I said that last year. Twenty fourteen is going to end, and I'm still going to be dreaming about the same things, but now they will feel farther away.
My pity party didn't last very long. I didn't want the girls to see me cry. I worked all weekend, and I didn't want them to think that being at home makes me sad. It's just the opposite, it makes me emotional. I was too tired to tickle fight and wrestle with them, so dad did it instead. I was too tired to make a real dinner so Mac and Cheese again. I was almost too tired to read, but I pulled that one out last minute. Still, it sucks to realize that you are almost too tired to function. Too tired to breathe. Too tired to do anything but tear up when they hug you tight and tell you they love you.
Even now, as I type this with the clock ticking down to my closing shift, I have all the feels. I have lists to do this week, and next week, and the week, after that. Thanksgiving will be a blur and so will Christmas if I don't find a little wiggle room. If I don't stop and breathe. And I can do those things if I can just let go of the small things. No one is holding me to any standard but myself. That's a hard truth to swallow.
I'm thinking I will set new "Holiday" goals for myself. Let's see, relax, let go, breathe, and buy everything on Amazon. Maybe not the amazon part, but the rest sounds pretty good.
By the way this wasn't the post I was going to write today, but its the one that came out. Hopefully I can find time to write the good stuff. Until then, you can have all the feels with me.
