hohoho (hum)

The 2010 holiday season is undoubtedly upon us and I, for one, pledge not to be unprepared, unhinged and unwrapped. I shall commit to buying more while spending less, to staying organized and mostly sane, and, hopefully, by the grace of the bearded man himself, finally get those dang lights strung up on the outside of my house. To keep myself on track, I have adapted a good old favorite carol that I will sing joyously (off key and quite loudly) – it shall be my theme, my mantra, my gift to you…

The traffic outside is frightful,
But the mall is so delightful,
Since we’ve got a great parking spot,
Let’s Go Shop! Let’s Go Shop! Let’s Go Shop!

Now that I have a tune in my head and a solid shopping plan, let the preparations commence. I will make lists and more lists and lists for my lists and I will be steadfast and furious and the first in line for the great deals of the day. There will be no repeats from last year’s ZhuZhu pet fiasco (numerous late night store visits, daily calls trying to butter up the “big wholesale store” employees to get the inside scoop on the delivery schedules so that I might hijack the truck en route, and finally spending 4x as much on eBay to score the coveted rodent squeakers). I have my eyes peeled for the next hot ticket item and I will definitely buy it early and minimize my stress while on the hunt for the hard to find items. I consign to staying on budget (hello Microsoft Excel, my dear, old systematic friend) and to “wow!” my family, friends, coworkers and my children’s teachers with the most thoughtful, fantastic goodies they could have ever even dreamed. Crowds of cranky shoppers will part like the Red Sea when they see me coming as I am the merriest, most mirthful mum filling bags and checking off names. Complete with toddler in tow and before the school bus returns home at 3:30P, I vow to succeed despite the frenzy of colored, blinking lights and tall piles of unsent greeting cards.

tryptophan-tastic

It should really come as no surprise to anyone, but like most overwhelmed, overextended mums, I have a difficult time sleeping these days. I am quite capable of passing out 3 seconds after my giant melon hits the pillow, but I wake up in the wee hours of the darkest time of night with worries (Did I lock the front door? Are all of the kids snug in their beds? Do we have enough coffee for the morning? Do I have any clean pants to wear or am I going to to have to put on the same jeans that I have worn for the last 9 days in a row?). I am restless and anxious about not being able to recover my lost time until I finally drift back off to Lala Land only to be rudely clobbered in the face by a Mickey Mouse and a Minnie Mouse and several other stuffed critters that came into my bed with my best toddler and another youngling on the other side who wants to snuggle, but can't get comfortable, despite 25 minutes of thrashing effort. The dog gets rolled over on and then the husband noisily gets up to start his day. The demands for food and attention begrudgingly lure me from out of my cozy spot and my feet hit the floor like bricks - clumsy and heavy. It's like Groundhog day - everyday.

I used to be able to take naps to ease the pain of the REM deprivation, but since my sweet baby doll has decided that she is prematurely done with mid-day snoozes and I really don't entirely trust her unsupervised for any length of time, I drink more caffeine and fumble through the day and live for 7:30P when I can, once again, crawl beneath the covers. Then when I was at my most desperate point, amidst the pressure of holiday shenanigans, a beautiful, wonderful, magical thing happened (usually only once a year) and it's called, "my favorite turkey coma". I am not sure if it was the fortuitous fowl itself, or a combination of 4000 wakeful nights and carbohydrate overload and boring football and DS downloads, but I passed out like a girl at a frat party (so I've heard...). I dreamt. I drooled. It was real, too, because I don't remember hearing little voices arguing from the other room or hollers at the TV when the Patriots won (they did win, right?). I woke up with tears in my eyes because it was so amazing - a solid 90 uninterrupted minutes of quiet time - not the kind of phony bologna teaser nap where you try to close your eyeballs and no mattter what, you just can't nod off, which, by all accounts is way worse than no shut eye at all. Methinks Christmas came early this year because that was, quite honestly, the best gift EVER. Either I made it to the Good List or somebody slipped something in my sparkling juice, I don't care how, but I would be pleased as punch if I could do it again!

the unhuman kind or the unkind human?

Today was a disappointing day. I don't expect everyone to live up to my crazy own self imposed standards, but I do strongly believe that people should at least be decent to one another.

My first exposure to rudeness was at the Gap Outlet this afternoon. Maybe there should have been more than one solitary register open in the store, but honestly, it is a Thursday in Freeport (not the day before Christmas Thursday or Black Friday Thursday, but a regular old Thursday). I stood waiting at what I would have designated to be the front of the line and some lady nearly knocked over my 2 year old with her giant old lady bag before barking at me that I was not actually in the proper area. I looked around, there were no other people waiting with arms overflowing and guess what? I was next so, whatever. But then, she grumps at the Gap girl to call for back-up (poor little Gap girl) and before I even grab my bag of goodies and my baby and the stroller and take a step away from the counter, she tosses her item in front of me. Grrr. I don't like my personal space or that of my child's invaded. The cashier then proceeded to ask if she can have her zip code and she retorts, "NO." She tries again, "oh, are you from out of state because..." Cranky lady interupts her with a nasty, "does it really matter?!" Truth be told, it doesn't really matter and if I didn't want anyone to know my zip code (it's not that personal) I could probably a) make one up or, 2) just say no, thank you. Oh, yeah, and she didn't hold the door for us when she stormed out of the door ahead of me. She must have been French (I can say that because I was almost fluent in French at one point and also, my husband's family is FrancoAmerican).

Next, the lady at a toy store (sounds like Lay and Plearn) is no Mr. Magorium (remember Dustin Hoffman with funny teeth and pants and hair?). The store is closing and there is a whopping (sarcasm inserted here) 20% off sale on the remaining bits of scraps that reside in the store. (FYI, don't bother.) She complained loudly about customers the entire 16 minutes that I walked around. Needless to say, I left empty handed - partially because there wasn't anything good, but mostly out of principle. I am chock full of principles, you know...

And for the piece de resistance (see? French!), I was driving home when I came upon a rusty old pick-up truck, directly past the railroad tracks, parked askew on the side of the road with a young blonde shorts wearing woman standing next to it. I immediately assessed the situation for safety and when I realized that there was not a gang of carjackers hiding downwind, I pulled over and inquired if she was ok. She was, but the old (he was 97 if he was a year) man was not. He lost his wheel - the entire wheel - when he drove over the tracks and she saw it roll 1/2 mile down the road and retrieved it and his hearing aid wasn't working and he couldn't remember his son's cell phone number and he just had some kind of surgery and was doing work in the barn today - "you know, with the animals" (he was very chatty). Anyway, he got ahold of his boy and he was going to rescue him tout suite (more French). This was neither unhuman or unkind, but guess what was? Do you know how many people stopped to see if everyone was ok? That's right - only me and the other toothy blonde. I bet I saw 20ish cars speed by (and not even slow down) and most of them were big, stupid, truck driving men (not saying all men that drive trucks are stupid or big, but in the instance, they were). What the heck? Where is chivalry? Common courtesy? Human kindness? Holiday spirit? Good will? Ba humbug!

malfunction (or 2)

So, did I mention to y'all that I am involved in community theater? I am making my theatrical on-stage debut this Friday (shameless plug) in a Carol Burnett Variety Show. But enough about the program details - the real juicy bit is that, well let's just say, there are no more Sarah secrets from the cast. I have this dress, this utterly ugly old lady dress, that is a great costume, but a completely awful fit on me. So, in one of my weaker, vainer moments, I set off to find something a skosh lovelier. And - yippy! - I found a replacement in the dress-up wardrobe for the middle school! Here's where the extra, super fun begins:

Fashion catastrophe #1 - apparently, the audience can see up my johny and bathrobe when I am on the stage. Ok, we're all adults and, need I remind everyone, actors. No big deal right? Right say the cast members on stage left. I am a bit embarrassed, but on with the show, until,

Fashion disaster #2 - I put on the new found dress, go through the rehearsal, bow, go through the rehearsal again, bow again, curtain closes and then, only then, do they (my favorite fellow actor pals) caution that I might want to reconsider the navy blue undergarments! Hello! Why didn't they mention, as a professional courtesy, this when I first emerged from the dressing room? We have no mirrors backstage, so I am relying on them to tell me if I am look alright. Nobody hesitated to tell me to wear sparklier earrings. I haven't been as exposed since last winter when I was trying on jeans at the Loft and the slippery toddler escaped from underneath the stall and ran out into the store and I had to also run out into the store in my undies - and not the cute, "I wouldn't mind being seen in these undies" undies, but the end of the laundry cycle maternity undies that I always say I am going to throw away, but never do and then I wear them just one more time because they are so comfy and they don't dig into my sides, and chase down the child, that has cost me my figure and my senses, into flurry of salesladies and holiday shoppers. Egad.

I am now humbled and much better prepared in the undergarments department for the actual show. However, for those in the front row and an extra $2... kidding.

hoopla

It's November - the beginning of the insanity. And you know what else is coming? Next year and past year's regrets. This holiday season, I am going to try to be more proactive so I can avoid the need to resolve myself with crazy resolutions. New Year's resolutions are the pits and I absolutely loathe those stinkers because:

1) I am already nearly perfect,
2) people take them way too seriously and,
3) I am just awful at follow through.

When I say that I am quite certainly, nearly good enough, I mean it in the most - nay, least - annoying way possible. I don't smoke or drink or speed or swear. I sometimes talk too much and too often and I have heard that I spend too much cash on clothing. Perhaps I could practice the art of silence and try to be a smidge less frivolous (darn you Boden) but, as I often remind my husband, I'm not all that bad.

Each January, we are bombarded with by TV ads luring us into the pit of despair. Clearly, we all let ourselves go to the bottom of the barrel over the holidays but, is it really our fault? From the time that the first leaf turns red through the last of the December holiday parties, we are stuffed with turkey and eggnog and pie. We wear longer sweaters and bigger pants only to be ridiculed by Jenny Craig and Special K and the threats of another summer just around the corner. We should not be surpised by the 5 extra pounds we open from far beneath the Christmas tree or disillusioned that we won't feel badly about that extra rum ball any more now than we were last year.

Also, I have tried the resolution route and failed miserably each time, only to feel like an even bigger, losery let down. I suck at sticking with it. I buy the Whitestrips and wear them for about 1/3 of the recommended time. I do a few walk/jogs around the neighborhood until I hurt my ankle or sleep through the 5:30A alarm. I try to eat healthier, but I adore sugar. I remember to take my vitamins sometimes. And I vow to be the best wife, mother and housekeeper EVER, let's just say, I gave it the good ole' college try.

I opt for this instead - let's dust off the decorations, turn on some fabulous Christmas music (starting today - really, really) and enjoy ourselves during this most joyous of seasons.