Seventeen More Days to Survive
So we are now eight days in the best/worst month of the year.
December.
The bane of my existence and, yet, the month that poignant memories are made every year. I'm acutely aware at this point that I should enjoy the time I have with my kids because soon enough it will be gone. At some point December might very well be *gasp* boring and lonely. I can't really imagine it, but since M plans to be off at college next year, I know that changes are coming.
But just because I know I should enjoy the craziness while I have it, doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm going to crumple under the stress. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional tonight and heard the message loud and clear-- I'm trying to do too much, and I don't have any peace because of it. I know that the peace will come from putting my focus on the why of Christmas-- celebrating the birth of my Savior and giving the gift of love and service to those around me. But putting it into action, while struggling with my monthly bout of hormonal blues and fighting against my seasonal depression while coping with a very full schedule and a tight budget-- well, let's just say I'm falling short. It doesn't help that Terence is gone (off on his hunting trip with my dad, though he will be home soon). But it has been a battle of panic attacks, emotional eating, and a desire to just sleep through the next two weeks.
I don't want my children to remember the Christmas season as the time when Mom always had a short fuse and was either yelling or in tears. I don't want my neighbors and friends and family to wonder if I've just disappeared. I don't want to disappoint anyone. But for the love of Pete! Why does everything have to be scheduled in December? I know birthdays in December can't be helped (oh, trust me, I know the pain of being a December baby whose birthday was always at risk of being overshadowed by Christmas). I know that we are going to have scouting craziness as our ward hurries to get as many boys to eagle (and K's webelos award earned) before our troop and pack cease to exist in three weeks. I know it was ME who scheduled all five kids for the dentist this week. I know everyone in the family would be disappointed if I bailed on traditions such as the white elephant gift exchange at my aunt's house and the cousins' trip to the train park. I know we shouldn't skip the treats for neighbors and the Christmas cards for all the aunts and uncles because this is practically the only time I ever make the effort to reach out to some of them. How can I just throw that connection out the window?
So, I'll go onward. And I'll try to keep up with my very specific gratitude list every night, and I'll try to use my meditation app and be vigilant about taking my blood pressure meds, and I'll try not to shout at idiot drivers on Hunt Highway. And I'll try to manage it all, just like I do almost every December. I know at some point I'm going to look back at all this insanity and miss it. Right??
December.
The bane of my existence and, yet, the month that poignant memories are made every year. I'm acutely aware at this point that I should enjoy the time I have with my kids because soon enough it will be gone. At some point December might very well be *gasp* boring and lonely. I can't really imagine it, but since M plans to be off at college next year, I know that changes are coming.
But just because I know I should enjoy the craziness while I have it, doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm going to crumple under the stress. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional tonight and heard the message loud and clear-- I'm trying to do too much, and I don't have any peace because of it. I know that the peace will come from putting my focus on the why of Christmas-- celebrating the birth of my Savior and giving the gift of love and service to those around me. But putting it into action, while struggling with my monthly bout of hormonal blues and fighting against my seasonal depression while coping with a very full schedule and a tight budget-- well, let's just say I'm falling short. It doesn't help that Terence is gone (off on his hunting trip with my dad, though he will be home soon). But it has been a battle of panic attacks, emotional eating, and a desire to just sleep through the next two weeks.
I don't want my children to remember the Christmas season as the time when Mom always had a short fuse and was either yelling or in tears. I don't want my neighbors and friends and family to wonder if I've just disappeared. I don't want to disappoint anyone. But for the love of Pete! Why does everything have to be scheduled in December? I know birthdays in December can't be helped (oh, trust me, I know the pain of being a December baby whose birthday was always at risk of being overshadowed by Christmas). I know that we are going to have scouting craziness as our ward hurries to get as many boys to eagle (and K's webelos award earned) before our troop and pack cease to exist in three weeks. I know it was ME who scheduled all five kids for the dentist this week. I know everyone in the family would be disappointed if I bailed on traditions such as the white elephant gift exchange at my aunt's house and the cousins' trip to the train park. I know we shouldn't skip the treats for neighbors and the Christmas cards for all the aunts and uncles because this is practically the only time I ever make the effort to reach out to some of them. How can I just throw that connection out the window?
So, I'll go onward. And I'll try to keep up with my very specific gratitude list every night, and I'll try to use my meditation app and be vigilant about taking my blood pressure meds, and I'll try not to shout at idiot drivers on Hunt Highway. And I'll try to manage it all, just like I do almost every December. I know at some point I'm going to look back at all this insanity and miss it. Right??
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