Tag Archives: christmas presents

Stop the Holiday Insanity Ride, I Wanna Get Off

I know I've used this in a past post, but it just perfectly describes how insane I feel right about now.

I know I’ve used this in a past post, but it just says it all.  It’s a re-gift.  This photo.  In honor of The Holidays.  Because if I re-gifted more often, perhaps I wouldn’t feel so nuts.

I decided that I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.  I mean, I don’t want to sound like a Scrooge but come on.  The pressure to do all the crap that needs to get done in a short period of time is friggin’ ridiculous.  Unfortunately, I am not a Type A personality like my mother.  She had her gifts bought and wrapped by August.  I kid you not.  But the thought of having my shit together so early kind of scares me.  I wouldn’t even know who I was.  Besides, with the condition of my memory lately, I probably would forget where I put half of it come December.

I started my day in a state of total disbelief and panic.  “Holy Freaking Shit,” I said to myself.  “How the hell am I going to get it all done?”  Piss poor planning does not necessarily blah blah blah.  I don’t want to hear it.  I know most of you feel the same way.  Be honest.  If you don’t, then you are June Freaking Cleaver and deserve a medal.

Just so you know, I had a full-out temper tantrum this morning.  That included tears, foot stomping and hair pulling (yes, I pulled my own hair.  Throwing dishes would have been a good option, but I happen to like my dishes so my follicles got abused instead).  It was just too much for me.  I melted down.  I’m not proud.

So here I am, writing this post when I should be putting stamps on my Christmas cards. Christmas cards that I don’t even like because the kid wanted a family picture this year.   My neck looks like a side of beef, my boobs are a little floppy and I’m doing that stupid hand on hip pose that I hate but completely understand why it’s done because not all 46 year old women can get away with sleeveless dresses so it’s a great trick at alleviating arm fat (that thought deserved a run-on sentence…sorry grammar freaks, including me).  I could have orchestrated a new photo shoot.  But that requires time.  And I felt like doing that like I feel like cleaning dog crap off the bottom of my shoes.  So a picture that was taken in May was the winner based on the fact that we are smiling AND all eyes are open.  That right there is a miracle…and a keeper.

christmas card photo

My eyes ARE open even though they look like slits.  I thank Mother Freaking Nature for that.

I think I need Holiday Hell Counseling.  Seriously.  I don’t care what, but we need to start a chapter somewhere.  But, until we can get HH Anonymous going, this is my therapy.  Thanks for listening.  Bah Humbug.  I mean, Merry Christmas!

Where Are You Fisher Price?

pile-of-gifts

I blame my mother for my Christmas obsession.  What is my Christmas obsession, you ask?  The ridiculous problem of not knowing when to stop purchasing gifts for Miss Spoiled Pants (aka The Kid).  I know.  I know.  There are children starving, poor and living in the streets all around the world.  I am aware of that.  And for the record, I also buy gifts for underprivileged families every Christmas.  And contribute to charities throughout the year.  So it makes me feel just a little better about my obsession.  But just a little.

Here is why I blame my mother:  When I was a kid, we couldn’t even walk into our living room from the gifts spilling out from under the tree.  Granted there were 3 of us and our living room was about the size of a shoebox.  But still.  We couldn’t walk into the room.  That right there is a child’s best dream come true.

My parents did not have a lot of money in the early years.  Mother started recycling before it was in fashion.  Purchasing used toys from the local Salvation Army.  Before you get all germaphobe on me, she cleaned them thoroughly with Clorox.  She swears.

And then later on, when there was a double income, I received gifts that would stack up practically to the ceiling.  This would happen until my last Christmas at home.  It was pretty awesome.  Until I became a mother.  What is the expression?  Nature or Nurture?  I think this had to do with the latter.  And I can’t seem to stop.

When The Kid was little — and when I say “little” I mean under the age of 10 — she was incredibly easy to buy for.  Or should I say CHEAP to buy for.  Because anyone who gives you a list a mile long is easy to buy for.  I could buy 100 bucks worth of Fisher Price shit, throw it under the tree and make it look like she hit the mother lode.

When she got into the early double digits, it started getting a little more expensive.  A little.  She wanted stuffed animals and Jonas Brother’s CDs.  Along with an i-Pod. Still, it did not pose much of a problem.  Totally manageable.

Now?  Good Lord.  I’m on the verge of robbing a bank.  One weekly paycheck from My Retail Job barely covers one single item on this kid’s list.  Just so you know, she does not get this from me.  I am a bare-bones kinda gal.  The cheaper, the better.  I can get 5 outfits with $100.  Even if it all falls apart after 2 washes.

DH is not completely onboard with the over the top Christmases.  I basically have to sneak the purchases into the house.  Sometimes hiding them in the trunk or at a friend’s house for days, even weeks, until the right moment hits.  Pulling the “oh that?  I bought that in August when there was a giant sale at K-Mart” card.  Totally works.  I think.  I also feel the need to fulfill most everything on her list.  I don’t understand it.  I never had half the shit she gets.  To make matters worse, she won’t share her closet with me.  But that is a subject for a different blog.

All I can say is that she should count her lucky stars she is an only child.  Because I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting almost everything on her list if she weren’t.  I’m pretty sure.  Well, I think I’m pretty sure.  There is no way of knowing now, is there?

I just really miss Mr. Price, Melissa and Doug.  They were more my speed.  They have been replaced by Apple, Jack Wills and North Face.  North Face.  She doesn’t even ski.  I’m really confused.  Oh well.  Three words that don’t seem to be a part of my vocabulary this time of year:  “Just Say No.”  I think I need help.  In the meantime, if you need some tips on how to hide purchases, just inbox me.