Bah, Humbug

Right now the cat is hiding under the covers, and I want to join him. I’m sure he was just looking for a nice, quiet place to sleep, but me, I want to hide from this day. It’s not that bad things are happening; on the contrary, it’s a day full of possibility and options. The problem is that I don’t want to do any of them. I just want to pretend I am the cat. Of the limited feelings I think he might express, being overwhelmed is not one of them.

Next week is the beginning of Chanukah, in less than two weeks is Christmas, and in my house, we celebrate both. Chanukah wasn’t such a big deal when my daughters were younger because their expectations and wants were smaller. A different colored dreidel, maybe a coloring book or a bag of gelt, and they were happy. It was mostly about unwrapping a gift and having something new. It didn’t matter so much what that something new was.

Now, as teenagers, they don’t exactly want a new coloring book. They each have a collection of dreidels, and they realize that gelt is shit chocolate and not really worth the calories. Finding something small for eight nights is not only more difficult, but it also cuts into my stocking stuffer options. Believe it or not, there are only so many tubes of lip gloss a teenaged girl wants. Candy is frowned upon because it makes girls fat, according to girls who eat it anyway and then bitch about looking fat, even though they are far from it. If I could find bags of gelt that were quality chocolate and came with a free counseling session, I would have it made.

The cat just sighed. I can hear him smacking his cat lips from under the covers.

Christmas shopping for my daughters presents its own set of challenges. I have two very different kids with two incredibly different lists. The older teen is very brand conscious, except none of the brands she wants can be found at our local mall or Target. Honestly, half of what she wants isn’t even found in our country. The Internet has made her wish list grow even more specific and difficult, and everything sold out the week of Thanksgiving.

The other one doesn’t really want anything, but if pressed to make a list, hers would include, in no particular order, a llama, a puppy, and a laptop, which even she admits she doesn’t really need. My challenge is how to make it fair. The fleece pullover the older one wants costs about three times as much as the sweater the younger one wants. So does she get three sweaters, or should the other one only get a third of her pullover?

The answer is that math doesn’t exist under the covers with the cat.

My husband and I are on the second year of not giving each other gifts, opting instead of home renovations. Last year, I wanted a new gas cooktop, which meant new counters and a new sink too. I have no regrets. I can buy myself clothes or a massage, but not having to clean grout on a tile countertop is the gift that keeps giving. Just kidding; you don’t think I actually cleaned the grout on my nasty tile countertop, did you?  I knew one year we would replace it.

So last year, we redid the kitchen, only we never finished it. We never made a decision on lighting, which was more than just replacing a fixture. It involved adding ceiling cans and under counter LED strips and rewiring the whole room and dimmer switches. With all of that, here was no point in tiling the backsplash until the electrical work was done. Which meant for the last year, I have been looking at unfinished sheet rock walls, when I could see them, because the whole room is so damn dark I have been cooking by flashlight.

So in the other room, after waiting a year to find one, is a good electrician, along with his father, who may or may not have tuberculosis.  He has removed all stuff from under the cabinets. He has run wires in the crawlspace. He has mounted under cabinet lighting and installed dimmer switches. While he did all that, his father stood around and coughed a bunch.

Then it was time to install the ceiling cans, and so he cut giant holes in the ceiling while his father coughed on the dust which has now settled all over my hardwood floors. And surprise, there was a second ceiling, like a secret panel, like the builder made a few calculation errors, and now what should have been a few hours of electrical work is turning into at least a long weekend of no access to my kitchen. And the best part is electricians don’t patch ceilings; they just put holes in them, while their fathers stand around and cough.

I am pretty sure if I crawl under the covers, the cat will leave, and I would rather hide with him than alone. Also, it doesn’t really count as hiding it looks like a boulder is under the comforter. Maybe I should hide with a glass of wine and a Xanax instead, under the actual bed. I bet no one would look for me there. I just know that I can't deal with what is happening in my kitchen, my children's lists, the holidays, anymore for today. I just want to be like the cat and hide.