You’ll never believe what I’ve been doing.
It’s very mommer to do Everything this time of year.
I’m not doing Everything. That’s why I wrote Almost Everything.
I made one meal all week. That was about a hundred years ago, Monday maybe.
I reconnected with the sammich love of my life this week.
Mostly, I worked and ran errands.
I’d made some decisions about the holidays earlier in the season. Grumpy decisions. I’m not Bah Humbug, but over time, I’ve maybe become a lil jaded about certain things.
Last year, I took an adorable box of my baked goods to someone’s house, whereupon person did not say thank you, but instead “Put them on the table.” Now, I should be giving the goodies with love and not a care in the world about appreciation, because generosity of spirit, but instead, I felt only the sting of tears.
I bake because I enjoy it, but the giving part is optional, cause I also, my family also, likes eating.
So maybe after 22 years of this tradition, I’ve become a bit stingier.
Like Water for Chocolate, y’all — Choke on some bitter cookies with angry icing.
I’ve also grown a bit Scrooge over holiday cards. I take the time to sit and write cards by hand and then time to stand in line at the post office to get festive stamps and time to put cute little stickers on them and honest to goodness, there are very few people who give a fuck. I should be sending out cards with loving messages because I am a loving person who wants everyone to enjoy a moment of knowing they matter to me. Instead, I’m more, i could be watching the crown, petting my cat…
So after 26 years of writing holiday cards to everyone I love, this year I’m only writing cards to people who give a fuck.
Otherwise, people might get hexed with paper cuts.
I buy the presents. I spend hours and hours online an in stores, buying the presents. So people can thank my husband, and give me something that wasn’t good enough for someone who really matters to them.
OF COURSE IT’S A CONSPIRACY! How else could it be explained?
I’m not particularly into things. Is it the thought that counts? How do I measure that? I’m into feelings. I don’t feel how one should feel, at all.
I never have to ask my dog what she wants for Christmas. She wants bones. Bones on bones on bones.
Maybe if you have to ask what we like, you shouldn’t shop for us.
So um, this year, if you haven’t been inside me, not so much of my time or thought for you.
Aren’t I terrible?!?
Give me another ten years and I’ll be like The Mister. “Fuck it. Fuck em all.”
He says I’m shedding delusions.
Less is more, amirite?
I have lived for this weekend. Wrapping paper ribbon joy, coffee on the circle, smiles and laughter, latkes by candlelight, vanilla scented songs, blankets and shows, snuggles and cuddles with my family, pancakes in pajamas, an abundance of twinkly lights, too much ham with too much mash and too much gravy — anything beyond that will not please me.
LONG LIVE THIS WEEKEND!
What’s your Yule Mode?