Post Christmas Meltdown

Today is the day.

Today is the day all my holiday stress comes together to form a ball inside my chest that makes me feel like I'm going to explode.

I love Christmas. I love everything about it, what it stands for course, the giving, the wrapping, the tree, the lights...even the snow (it's the only day of the year I like snow, so God, if you miss Christmas with the snow, just keep the rest to yourself please. Thanks). I'm very strategic about my stress attacks. I don't want them ruining Christmas, and I certainly don't want them beginning my new year, so December 30th is the day. Before then, I refuse to let anything about Christmas stress me out. It's the most wonderful time of the year, right? So I don't stress over perfect gifts. I don't stress over the perfect meals, and I absolutely refuse to stress over a clean house.

But then, just like that, Christmas is over, and suddenly all the things I refused to stress over are suffocating me. Dishes from days ago are all over the table and kitchen counters, stale food crumbs seem to be everywhere, and clean and dirty laundry is piled up in every room. The floor is covered with toys; many opened and many still in boxes, the tree I loved so dearly appears to be getting bigger and taking up more space in an area I could otherwise be using to organize this mess, and the snow is laughing in my face, as if to say, "You're stuck there until you clean that mess up!"

And so, as crazy as it may sound, that stress ball festers into this real, live, physical being, tightening inside my chest, and it needs a target of destruction. Today, all my anger lands on that poor defenseless Christmas tree; the very same one I was so overjoyed to decorate just three weeks ago. This afternoon, I felt like I might die if that tree didn't come down today. Jelani doesn't understand. He's loving, and kind, but he just does not understand what it is like to be here day in and day out, with no car for escape, suddenly having twice the stuff you had before, plus a giant, dying pine tree with ornaments sliding off into the floor, a dog tracking in wet footprints several times a day, and the complete inability to focus on any other cleaning task while all you can think about is how you could put to good use that giant space that awful tree is taking up. But my husband, who works, and hasn't had much vacation, has not had time to enjoy the tree, and therefore refused to help me take it down. I'm not complaining. It's understandable, so I sit here, keeping my hands busy, telling you all just how crazy I am, while I shoot sideways daggers at that Christmas tree, which is suddenly to blame for every single mess inside this house. Nothing else can be done until that beast is conquered.

For now, while my blessed children are napping, I shall go read my Bible and ask Jesus to remove this hate from my heart, because the sensible me knows that tree didn't do anything to deserve my inexplicable desire to tear it apart limb from limb and drag it out of my house.

Phew. I feel better already. Thanks. :)

I Love You, But No

In the spirit of flu season, I've chosen this yucky topic for you all to enjoy.

You should all know something about me. I am not a germaphobe. My children and I often eat foods we've dropped on the floor (and I do not keep an immaculate floor), we play outside and get dirty, we share silverware, and all that typical mommy stuff. But there is one thing that will turn me into the most paranoid germaphobe you've ever met.

I am freakishly terrified of the stomach bug. So much so, that when any of my friends post about having it on facebook, no matter where they are, or what my chances are of ever seeing them, I'm instantly nauseous and lose my appetite. I become incredibly paranoid about catching it, and vow to keep the children away from civilization at all costs. True story.  The bug has been going around at our church and I am contemplating keeping everyone home this Sunday. I am known for saying insensitive things to people who confess to having had it or to someone in their family having it, such as, "Stay away from me!"

So, this morning, when my children decided to "play sick," mostly so they could cuddle up on the couch with their new cuddleuppets, (you know the ones with the jingle that never leaves your head; the blankets that are puppets) it took every ounce of strength I had not to get buckets out to put at their feet and lysol everything they've touched.

Of course they are not really sick. They were pretending, but I must have asked them if they felt like they were going to throw up, about a dozen times in less than five minutes.

See, there's never a good time to get sick. Getting sick sucks, but every time I've ever gotten sick in my lifetime, I've never been able to eat the last things I had before becoming ill. New York style cheesecake and chiavetta's chicken top off that list. I know! Sad, right? So now it is Christmas time, and pure paranoia has kept me from indulging in chocolate treats. Still, it makes me sad to think of all the foods I could never eat again if I got sick right now.

So, right now, while this bug seems to be going around more than usual, I'll pray for you. I know Jesus spent time with the sick and even laid hands on them. He's pretty amazing like that. But me? I sure do love ya, but no. :)