Yesterday, I stood in front of my house and wanted to cry. The thought of taking down my Halloween decorations was so overwhelming that I couldn’t even get started! I had styrofoam gravestones to pick up, lights to unwind, a bunch of decorative crap to haul inside, and, of course, about 10 pounds of fake spider webs to untangle from all of our trees and bushes.
I unplugged the lights and extension cords for safety reasons, and managed to open the front door and chuck them inside|I unplugged the lights and extension cords for safety reasons, and managed to open the front door and chuck them inside|I unplugged the lights and extension cords for safety reasons, and managed to open the front door and chuck them inside
I cannot motivate myself to do much of anything|I cannot motivate myself to do much of anything|I cannot motivate myself to do much of anything
Right now I have the bare minimum going — make it to work (gotta save those sick and personal days for maternity leave), get my daughter to her activities, and stay just ahead of the disaster point on dishes and laundry. Forget the garden — everything’s dead and I’m just letting it sit there.
All those home projects? Nope. How dare the holidays come around and ask me to clean house, have people over (yuck), cook, wrap gifts, and generally make the stupid magic happen?
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Right now I have the bare minimum going — make it to work (gotta save those sick and personal days for maternity leave), get my daughter to her activities, and stay just ahead of the disaster point on dishes and laundry. Forget the garden — everything’s dead and I’m just letting it sit there.
All those home projects? Nope. How dare the holidays come around and ask me to clean house, have people over (yuck), cook, wrap gifts, and generally make the stupid magic happen?
If I lived by myself, or didn’t have kids, I’d be so tempted to just leave|If I lived by myself, or didn’t have kids, I’d be so tempted to just leave|If I lived by myself, or didn’t have kids, I’d be so tempted to just leave
Hop a cheap flight and go somewhere else for Thanksgiving, and maybe Christmas, too. Sit in a hotel room or on a beach, read a book, and watch trashy reality TV all night. But the part that’s the hardest is that all of the work and preparation that moms do to make holidays happen isn’t for them — it’s for the kids and members of the visiting family. It’s busting your butt for the sake of the memories.
I think fleeing the scene is probably out of the question, but maybe I can phone it in on some other stuff. Pay a little more to have the gifts wrapped before they are shipped, buy pre-made food and appetizer trays, hire the neighborhood kids to put up my decorations. A few corners cut perhaps, but this is doable.
Maybe?
UGH! I’m too pregnant for this!
