I am Debbie Downer today. Everything that comes from my mouth is a bummer-ass comment. Although I DID go to spin class at 8:15 a.m. this morning (and officially got Sultan to take his first class with me. Yay! And his balls did NOT fall off like he anticipated so I'm hoping this might be a regular occurrence.), it did not lift my mood. I think I'm suffering from PMS-- Post Merriment Syndrome. This is a distinct, chronic malady that plagues us parents at the tail end of a long holiday break. And I have got it bad.
From about October 15th through December 25th, the onslaught of Christmas cheer is pummeled at us harder than Britney pummels a paparazzi car with her umbrella. We are made to feel we absolutely cannot live without certain toys, books, recipes, gadgets, decorations, and alcoholic beverages. And by not buying these items, you will be a lousy failure of a party hostess, mother, wife, chef, friend, and Martha Stewart wannabe. So you might as well find some means of getting all this shit in your swarthy little mitts before December 25th. Whether you open a nifty in-store credit card to save 10% or whether you steal the crap outright, you gotta have it.
My kids will start back to school tomorrow. We have done plenty of fun-filled, jamboree, let's cherish our family time while we spend more money activities. We have gone ice skating a few times, bowling, played the Wii aplenty, gone to American Girl, Navy Pier's Winterfest, the Apple Store, and to Uncle Andy and Keisha's place downtown. We went to Michigan for my best friend, Sara's, wedding. The kids went sledding on cookie sheets with Grandma by the lake (don't laugh. Remember Clark W. Griswald in Christmas Vacation when he went sledding on that metal saucer? I'm surprised my kids weren't propelled onto the lake to join the crazy-ass ice fishermen with the speed those tin pans gather). We had a few playdates with friends. We visited Milwaukee. We had fun at some good friends' home for New Year's. I think all the hubbub of activity was so all-consuming, my mind, body, and spirit are asking me, "Now what the hell do we do?!"
My feeling of letdown wasn't exactly depression, it just rendered me worthless. I laid around and slept as if I was hungover AND newly knocked up (shut up, you do-gooders. Most of us had a few "Holy shit, I was wasted before I knew! Will my baby have antlers?!" moments in that first month). I couldn't bring myself to put away my Christmas trees and ornaments or even throw out the now stale fudge, which seems like a sacrilege to do so. I think it's my subconcious telling my body, "Just one day more! Hold on to the dream! Don't let it go! Savor these last few hours!"
Aside from a few tiffs between my kids, I have really enjoyed them being home. I expected non-stop girl fights, teasing, tattling, hair pulling, and pissy moods but there was a mediocre amount of all that. I did not have to pop a Xanax to mellow me out or have a glass of wine at 3pm to chillax. I survived. I am a mother warrior of Christmas break. I don't want them to go back to school just yet. I look so forward to the holidays, nearly peeing my pants in anticipation of the excitement on their faces when they open certain special gifts. And then after months of planning, it's gone...all gone.
I don't think the band Journey could have written a better song to commemorate my mood....."Don't stop believin'!! Hold on to that feelin'!" Thank you, Steve Perry and your large nose, thank you...
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