Time

Ohhhhh, this time of year. 

I feel as though I have lowered my Christmas-expectation standards considerably this year, and I am still not able to meet them.  Cue the Christmas-holiday-induced depression.

Example: 

Last year, not only did I make Christmas cookies, I made eight kinds of Christmas cookies.  I had freezer space and TIME and I loved it.  Everybody got cookie plates.  I felt like I was passing a time-honored tradition down to Zoey, which gives any mother warm fuzzies.  Of course, come to find out, everything else in my life was slowly spiraling out of control, BUT THERE WERE CHRISTMAS COOKIES.

This year?  Not one batch.  Not yet, and it's not looking promising.

Example #2:

Holiday decorations.  They were everywhere last year.  I love holidays lights.  This year, not so much.  I have a tree, compliments of Paul from work, and had he not literally shown up on my doorstep like Santa Claus, delighting Zoey to no end with his pine-scented delivery, I'm not sure we'd have a tree, either. 

Yes, yes, I understand.  I can hear you lecturing me from out in cyber-space and believe me, when I called my mother in tears last night, she put a voice to all your thoughts.  Apparently what we're dealing with here are some unrealistic expectations.  She assures me that not one person will care if I don't find time to make cookies.  Zoey will not fall apart if we don't whip up a batch of cinnamon ornaments (in fact, she won't even notice).  Believe me, I know.  This year I have suddenly adjusted to single parenthood balanced with full-time work, and recently have the added baggage of cleaning up my father's messy house.  I can list about eight companies from memory who are waiting for death certificates that I may or may not mail out before January.  I am trying to commit more time to writing on this blog, which means I get up very early or stay up late to write, because I want to.  I want to be more educated.  Read more, listen to more NPR.  This, perhaps, is the goal that tips me over in to the realm of tears.  I look at the stack of magazines waiting for me on my table, or the line of NPR podcasts waiting to upload to my iPod, and all I want to do is cry.

Crying.  It's how I roll this month.

So, last night, I found myself seriously contemplating whether I should go to my company Christmas party or grocery shop at Winco.  There are only so many Zoey-free hours in a month, you know, and I feel like I need to take advantage of them.  However, my Board of Advisors (thank you Mom, thank you Paul) informed me I'd be going to the party.

And I did.  And it was fun.  Far more fun than I had expected. 

Just that few hours of relaxing and having fun with my co-workers was all I needed.  Christmas cookies and what to do with my father's butter tub collection faded to the back of my mind.  I got to dress up and dance with my friends.  I didn't care that I had come by myself.  Nobody cared, they are my friends and they love me whether I have a date or not.  I don't have enough time to do everything I want, just like everyone else, but for a few hours, it's not what we were thinking about.

So thank you, again, to my family and friends who always pull me up when I am drowning in tears, and force me to do what is actually best for me.  Mom.  Abby.  Paul.  Grandma. 

FancyNancyAlisaCharRikkiCarrieDebbieCindyKarenKatieKellyAmyMaggieWandaKendraKimRebeccaKateDrManamWarrenErinKelly.

And Winco?  It's open 24 hours and, if you go at 11 pm, you pretty much have the whole joint to yourself.