In A Minute

I've lost track of the amount of times in the past three weeks that I have heard All I Want for Christmas is You by Mariah Carey.  I change the station, flip on satellite, pop in a CD (gasp! yes, CDs) and yet it still haunts me.  All I want for Christmas is for that song to go away.  And really, that's not bah-humbug of me.  Give me a solid rendition of Silent Night or Joy to the World and I'll have that puppy on repeat.  Strike up one hair-raising, chillbump-inducing version of the Hallelujah Chorus and I'm a puddle of tears and memories.  Even the Carpenters get some serious consideration before I surf for something else.  But Mariah, I'm sorry, honey.  You've gotta go.

So that was a long way around the idea of losing track---see, I've lost track again.  Clearly this is a trend.  In addition to losing track of how many times I've rolled my eyes and wished for Mrs. Nick Cannon to hush, I've also lost track of how many times I've issued the ever-popular Momism, "In a minute."  Oh my goodness.  I'm quite certain I've even said "in a minute" in my sleep or when a request that might illicit such a response wasn't even made.  Yeah.  'Tis the season.

And you know what?  I feel bad.  But I don't feel really bad.  Such a distinction there.  Did you catch it?  Yeah--like splitting damn hairs.  See, I don't feel really bad because I simply cannot do every single thing at the same exact moment.  Whoa--admission time.  Who can?  I mean, it's just not even something I want to aim for.  Make breakfast casserole, set the table, clean the floors, make the cookies, package said cookies...all with promises of help from a pint-sized munchkin who means well but ends up deserting me 15 minutes into the chore.  I can't blame her; making a mess in the family room, playing store (how did she get her hands on real, live gift cards anyway!!) and wrapping anything she can find and presenting it to me in a grand gesture of Christmas is way more fun than counting out cookies into Rubbermaid containers. I get it.  As I write this, she's wandered downstairs to build a fort.  Go for it, honey.  Go. For.  It.

I'm teaching her the value of independent play, right?  I mean, she can entertain herself for a good while as I do whatever it is that needs to get done.  It's actually fun to watch her and listen in on her imagination at play.  And, in her own way, that is super helpful.  Beats trying to set a pretty dining room table that includes crayons at each setting and shnibbles of paper strewn about like confetti.  On second thought....

This time of year, more than any other, gives me tremendous anxiety.  Have I made enough memories?  Are we capturing them all properly?  Is she going to be happy with this experience or this adventure.  It's hard to shut off the ugly Comparison Monster; he sucks.  So you got your kid 7,348,379,389,340,398 gifts.  And they're all perfectly wrapped in themed paper, bows made like the ones on those stupid Lexus commercials.  Yeah.  That's great.  Wait, is it?  Am I a jerk because my kid only has 7,349,379,389,340,397 gifts?  Crap.  I should go back out.  But when am I going to do that?  Awe man...I'm screwed.  

Admit it; you've fallen into that trap at least once, too.  It takes some real SOMETHING to rise above, gouge out the eyes of that horrible monster and be totally confident in the 4 gifts you've wrapped (not perfectly!) and placed (with LOVE!) under the (now wilting because you had to get it immediately after Thanksgiving) tree.  And you know what?  That leaves a whole lot more time to eat ooey, gooey Monkey Bread while sitting at that pretty dining room table.  Oh, who am I kidding--we eat it while sitting in a pile of wrapping paper while wearing PJs and sporting bed head.  Yep.  That's how we roll.

All the "in a minutes" are hopefully adding up to one very magical Christmas.  Even if a huge part of the magic is watching Mama's anxiety melt away because the family room is clean or the dining room table does look fancier than normal.  Christmas isn't--and shouldn't be--"just another day" around here.  I can't discount my mental health; I mean, all the coconut macaroons and snickerdoodles won't matter a lick if I've totally lost my mind in the process, right?

She'll forgive the upmpteenth "in a minute" when she realizes that what I was doing in that minute was wrapping a present or washing the flannel sheets covered in snowmen that I secretly purchased and will slip on her bed while she's getting into the car to leave for church on Christmas Eve.  When I say "in a minute" it is in those 60 seconds that I'm on the iPad trying to find a cookie recipe from The Pioneer Woman--who has suddenly become your favorite person on TV (sorry, Doc McStuffins!).  "In a minute" translates into sneaking away to pen a note from Ozzie, our Elf, to wish her a happy first day of winter.  The joyful expression on her face when she finds it erases the memory of "just a minute" for both of us.

Working two jobs, even though I do like them both...a lot...maintaining our home, being a good wife, being a friend, sister, daughter and all the other things I'm required to be in any given day can make my head spin a little.  Add in Christmas, and it seems as if there's an impending explosion on any given day.  And I've said it before---many times.  I'm not special, unique or looking for pity or accolades.  It's the way it is.  And in the craziness, I find moments of piece---one "just a minute" at a time.

So, Mariah...we have very different ideas of what we want for Christmas.  Really--you're surprised?  All I want for Christmas is my family, whole and happy together in one joyful, peaceful place.  And maybe for my (self-imposed) stress level to drop.  And, one more thing...if the local stations could maybe play your song a little less often, that'd be swell.  Sorry, but it's true.  

This blog was supposed to be all about traditions.  But you know what, that one will come.  "In a minute."