I'm at that phase in the holiday season where I thought I had things under control and was excited about spending a relaxing week leading up to Christmas. You know, days filled with cookie decorating and stories, quiet evenings enjoying music on the stereo and a good book sitting in front of the fire. The Christmas sparkling in the clean and organized room. The gifts all wrapped.
Yeah. Enjoy it for another moment. Because, while this is my fantasy, reality has to creep in.
Instead, I'm remembering all the things I wasn't doing because I was doing that first important list. Things that could wait until we were closer to the holiday because I didn't need to order them or worry about stores running out of something. I blithely thought, "Oh that list is pretty doable. We'll have plenty of time to do things like cookie decorating." We'll still get the cookie decorating in, but I'm going to have to be careful in the time management department to get everything else in. Have I mentioned how much I adore the day after Christmas before?
So, today, I have spent two hours waiting in line at the post office, because the main branch's computers were down, so my small and friendly branch was swamped. And I couldn't try to go somewhere else because I had walked there since returning children had borrowed my vehicle. (It was a balmy 2 degrees, by the way.) Then we needed to do some whole house cleaning since friends are coming over for dinner and carol singing tonight. These are close friends, whom I don't normally feel the need to clean for, but the house was pretty dicey after having ignored for a couple of weeks. You get a blog post because I felt the need to actually sit for a few minutes before tackling the kitchen and throwing a gingerbread cake into the oven.
If you were hoping for more content today, rather than reading about my to-do list, take a look at my newest article that has been published. (If you wanted to share it, too, I certainly wouldn't complain.) Maybe tomorrow I will have some sort of coherent thought in my head.
Why I Love Speechless as a Special Needs Mom