Hot Mess

As I understand it, people don’t do a lot of blog reading around the holidays which is lucky for me, because I clearly don’t do a lot of writing around this time of year either.

Christmas is stressing me the fuck out. I am an anxious ball of crazy surviving on Diet Dr. Pepper and chocolate chips, and let me tell you, it’s good for my physique. I’m always rather anal around this time of year, but this year, I’m extra off. I’m shaky. I’m chewing the inside of my mouth and my fingers RAVENOUSLY. Raw. The only way it could be worse is if I were a meth head and I was picking the imaginary bugs off of my face till it bled, but then I’d be high on meth (and probably skinny, to boot) and I wouldn’t know any better or care. Sigh. No meth. Oh well.

I’m not sure exactly why this year is hitting me harder, but it is. I don’t think I’m yet recovered from my PPD 100% and daily obligations and trying to keep everything afloat sucks balls.

Keeping people fed and clean fills up most of my day. My mind is running a mile a minute and I’m trying my best to multitask and keep it all together. Like making sure I get to the sippy cup full of old chunky milk before the baby drinks it all because when I don’t, it subsequently leads to cleaning up puke, more laundry and more baths. I’m trying to remember to wear pants and matching shoes when I drop kids off at school because it’s a sure bet that if I’m not, my automatic door on the minivan will not work and I will have to explain pajama pants and slippers to the assistant principal as I’m picking up a prescription bottle and an empty McDonald’s fry container that falls out of the car as I manually close the door.

I am busy policing the Christmas trees and porcelain village from little hands that throw things surprisingly well. We are already at a record 7 ornaments broken and have gone through 2 tubes of super glue and we still have almost two weeks till Christmas! He’s quite a savant.

Christmas shopping is a form of Chinese torture, in my book. And the mall? Is simply… hell. I don’t go there. Which is great since my daughters are at that fabulous age where the labels on the clothes suddenly mean something. So hooray for superficiality. They’re going to be really pissed when they get irregulars from TJ Maxx with labels marked out with a sharpie.

One of the things keeping me sane is the baby’s love for the sights and sounds of Christmas. His excitement is contagious. He says “Santa” all day. He loves it all especially the music… and he’s a dancer.

(quality bites the big one, I know, but you get the idea of how he drops it like it’s hot.)