In my second semester in college, something clicked in me. I stopped stressing about finals. During finals week as my friends freaked out, studied until their eyes popped out, I would take a little time to review and then turn on the TV or surf the web. It drove some of my friends CrAzY. But my mom had taught me how to study. A little every day. Study for 15 mins, break 5, 15 more mins, break 5, and so on. If the test was cumulative, I should know most of the material any way. If the test was on just part of the semester, then I should just treat it like any other test. I relaxed, watching how much nicer people were to each other, even though they were all stressed, because they were all in the same boat. Professors and students were scrambling to finish the semester. And I walked in slow motion as the rest of the world sped by.
Which is how I feel right now.
And I have no right to feel that way.
No right, what so ever.
My Christmas cards aren’t even at my house yet because I ordered them on Sunday. So they are not addressed, stamped, and mailed out. Oh, and I forgot to put something like “Tornado E, Tornado S, and Tornado A wish you a Merry Christmas” on the cards. So someone has to do that too.
As for the jar mixes that I have to put together for my grandparents and aunts and uncles, I still have to buy the jars.
Tornado E needs another gift from Santa, but at least everything else is bought for the boys.
Nothing is bought for my family. Ok, I lied. I bought a few knickknacks last year after Christmas, but not enough to give as gifts.
Which means, nothing is wrapped either.
My boxes to my in-laws and my two best friends are not even packed. (Didn’t I say I would get those out early this year?)
The annual professional pictures I wanted to get of the boys never got done.
I have not baked a damn thing, though I have all the stuff. Except butterscotch chips. I need those.
The handmade ornaments and gifts from the boys. I scratched out the gifts, and they have only made one set of ornaments done. But I burnt those. (Did any one know you can burn clay?)
And then there’s the grand debate of should I or should I not get some sort of gift for The Husband. Are there rules for this sh*t? But I rather err on the side of sainthood than b*tchhood.
Let’s not forget I blew over 200 bucks of the budget on things I forgot to budget for. Add another 150 because I forgot to add regular groceries into the budget. Brilliant, I know. At least, The Husband has done his dirty work too by snagging 150, but he goes and slays dragons for that stuff. And I don’t feel too bad over the budget. I mean, Tornado A did NEED his shots, and the boys did NEED haircuts. They looked like they had been timewarped from the 70s.
So ten days before Christmas, I’m buried under a mountain of stuff to do. And I’m not worried. I’m not freaking out. I’m just chilling. It’s weird. The only theory I have come up with is that I’m so worried and freaked out and obsessed over my marriage and my path to maturity that I just don’t have any room for the rest of the stuff out there. The kids will get to school on time, and they will be properly fed, dressed, and rested every day. The bills are paid. Everything else will fall into place. Gifts will be wrapped. Food will be prepared. Budgets will be fixed. And the boys will have a wonderful Christmas in spite the fact that all the adults are filled with chaos over the separation.
Remind me of this zen place when I’m building two bikes at 1am Christmas morning.