There's eggnog in the fridge and a Christmas card on the shelf.
There are presents in the making and budgets to be kept.
Yet despite the cold, the darkness and the snow,
this Advent season is quickly ticking by and I've nothing to show.
Lately, the blogosphere has been filled with merry posts about holiday decorating, holiday baking, and kids in Santa hats. It's lovely and it's fun, but it's making me feel like this:
Because this is how far I've got with my holiday decorating so far:
1) Open closet door
2) Pull down holiday decoration container
3) Shut closet door.
4) Open container.
5) Throw autumn/Halloween decorations into container.
6) Walk away.
And mind you, this happened a week ago. I have not walked back yet. The container is still sitting there in the corner, although I did move it farther out of sight this morning so I'd stop feeling so guilty about it.
It was pretty common place during my childhood for our Christmas tree and decorations to go up the day after Thanksgiving. However, Andy prefers we wait a little longer than that and considering the finite amount of space in the cabin and my finite tolerance for Christmas trees weeping balsam needles all over the floor, the wait makes sense. So maybe a tree this weekend. Maybe.
To be honest, things are kind of a beautiful disaster at the moment. I'm up to my ears in deadlines and freelance projects. The house is such a disgusting pit that we try to intercept any visitors (namely, the UPS man) on the deck before they can catch a glimpse inside. We are still processing that frackin' deer. (Don't worry, it's been frozen, we're just in the midst of round 2 of the sausage making.)
And my attempt to call off Christmas? Foiled. Foiled completely, my friends. After making my very mature and very important announcements that I was not doing presents nor Christmas cards this year, (Sorry guys. Sorry USPS) Andy started dogearing catalogs (I'm taking creative license with this fact) and then just this evening suggested that perhaps we should . . . send Christmas cards this year.
I'm off to get myself one strong glass of eggnog . . .