As usual I thought I'd try to get ahead on Christmas stuff this year, and instead what I accidentally did was get an early start on the Post-Holiday Funk. I feel like, here we are a week until Christmas and I'm not even excited yet. Maybe the whole thing is a bust.
Paul, who has been my faithful and patient companion for fifteen Christmasses, said kindly, "Yes, I know. This is your favorite Christmas carol." My friend Kara Marie, who is getting accustomed to shoring up my teetering psyche, said, "Dude, what's the worst that can happen if you don't feel jolly? You know? The sun will still come up the next day." My mother, whose psyche resembles my own, says, "IS IT TIME TO PANIC??? SHOULD WE CANCEL CHRISTMAS???"
But look! Niestle is here! She is at my parents' house AS I TYPE!
And perhaps I will bake a Christmassy treat today. And I have some Starbucks Winter Blend coffee I found earlier this week at Target on clearance. And Elizabeth just said perkily, "This would be a perfect day for an outing!" so maybe it would be. And there will almost certainly be more cards in the mail.
But oh dear: we have been invited to a holiday party tomorrow, and I don't know if you know this about me but I am NON-SOCIAL. I don't socialize with people unless they are related to me by blood or marriage and are therefore contractually obligated to like me, or else we've known each other so long that I feel like it's their own fault if they didn't know what they were getting into by choosing to be friends with me.
And I WANT to go to this party, because it is hosted by the parents of William's best friend Clarissa and their friendship is such a nice one it's led me to have little pleasant fantasies about Clarissa eventually being the mother of some of my grandchildren, and also I'm so relieved to see that not ALL my children have been afflicted with my non-social genes. But I am all fretful because...well, because I AM. It's the way I AM. And a thousand people could reassure me that it is no big deal and no one is going to bite me and everything is going to be fine and no one cares how I act GEEZ GET A GRIP, and I could even get it in writing from a deity that everything would go well and I would STILL be fretful, and afterward I would still spend hours/days/years feeling like I arrived/left at the wrong time, that I hogged/ignored the hostess and other guests, that I was too loud/quiet, that I neglected some element of etiquette, that I said something dumb, that my children behaved badly, that I took up too much air and space, whatevs.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...