Subtitled It’s Not Easy Being Me.
One of the nice things about having a large-ish family fairly spread out (I know, other families make us look small and close, but we’re not talking about them) is that Christmas just has to last a little longer. My sister from Pennsylvania is coming to Rome (where my parents live) on Wednesday (today) and my sister from Liverpool is coming for New Years.
As you may know, I am not the sort that gets things done early. Give me two more days and whatever I have to get done will take two more days. I finished the last afghan for the last nephew last night (this is not counting the late afghans I intend to make for the nieces that donated their afghans to the nursing home). That wasn’t so bad. It made a good excuse to watch television instead of clean the house. I caught a City Confidential, an On the Case with Paula Zahn, and when Steven came home we watched a few sit coms we had DVR’d last spring (that also gave us the virtuous feeling that we had accomplished a task procrastinated).
Before I had settled on the couch with my crochet hook, I made some White Trash. I had the ingredients for one more batch and had not yet reached White Trash Making Overload (stirring the melted white chocolate over the cereal and stuff can get tiresome). I still have not reached Overload, so on my next trip to the grocery store I may snag some more white chocolate chips.
This morning, then, all I had to do was wrap the presents. Ugh. I am a terrible wrapper. And we’re running out of wrapping paper. I decided while wrapping the second afghan of the day that next year everybody in my family is getting small presents. You would expect me to come to that conclusion later, when I load the car by myself (husband’s work schedule dictates) (come to think of it, I did come to that conclusion the last time I loaded the car by myself, about five years ago, the last time I gave a bunch of afghans for Christmas. How quickly we forget). The worst moment of the morning, however, was when I realized I was using Care Bear wrapping paper. How in the world did we get Care Bear wrapping paper? I hate those damn bears! I suppose they must have been in a package of several different patterns. I comforted myself with the reflection that the paper will get ripped and recycled.
After dropping Steven off at work, I had to gas up the car, go to the grocery store, and go to Hummel’s to make copies and buy the last ingredient for the last present to be wrapped. I don’t usually drive the car. Two blocks from the gas station I realized I did not know which side the gas cap is on. The dashboard does not have a handy arrow showing me, like my truck does (I still consult the arrow some days and I’ve been driving that truck for six years). For a wonder, I guessed right the first time. I still had to back up and maneuver, though. I am really a lousy driver.
As I drove down the main drag, I realized I had no compelling reason to go to the grocery store today. Woo hoo! Cross something off my list with no more effort than thought! At Hummels’ Office Plus I needed to make a copy of a story I had written for my niece Camille to illustrate. I had printed the story out then cut and pasted to have only a paragraph or two per page. I bought the kind of binder with a plastic sleeve on the cover, for a title page. The Ghost Who Liked Christmas. Written by Aunt Cindy. Illustrated by Camille. I felt so creative and only a little bit guilty. I’ve had nieces and nephews since the mid ’80s. Why didn’t I write stories for all of them? Let’s not go there. It’s Christmas (that excuse should be good till January 6 anyways).
I paused amidst these gyrations to make the blog post which you are now reading (if you are still reading) (which, I guess you are). One more present to get ready, a dog to walk, a shower to take, a car to load and a husband to collect. Till then, it’s still Christmas! So Merry Christmas!
