Half as Much but not Half Enough

Yesterday was my half birthday. I am forty five and a half years old. Remember when it was your half birthday when you were a kid? It seemed like the kind of thing that should call for at least half of a celebration. Maybe a cupcake, or an extra hug or at least someone remembering it was your half birthday (Happy half birthday to my sister LM, whose half birthday was a mere four days ago). I’m not the only one who feels that way; if you don’t believe me, mosey on over to Pinterest. Now that I’m, well, more middle-aged, maybe it’s the sort of thing I don’t need to announce to the world, even if I am writing about it now and thus, essentially, announcing it to the world.

Instead, this half birthday of mine will be used to sort of reflect on the past half year, to check in with myself and see how I’m doing. After all, this is my twelfth of the twelve blogs of Christmas, and a little recap isn’t such a bad thing.

For the past few years, I have set myself a goal of writing twelve blog posts for the holidays, allowing myself from the beginning of December until roughly Epiphany, January 6, to complete this task. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, if it does sound easy, and if it does, you are either extremely prolific or extremely misinformed. I generally write 1000 words or so per post, so twelve posts is 12,000 words, because math. 12,000 words is roughly a children’s chapter book or a good chunk of a slim novel, so it isn’t a small amount of writing. It’s no month in the life of a James Patterson or a Stephen King, mind you, but chances are the likes of them aren’t in charge of all the holiday preparations in their house. Just a wild guess, but I bet I’m right.

In addition to trying to write 12,000 words in a month, I also plan celebrations for both Hanukkah and Christmas. That means I do all the planning, shopping, cooking, wrapping, and giving for two big holidays that occur roughly at the same time. If you think the holidays are overwhelming on their own, try coming up with twelve different topics describe and share at the same time. Nobody asks me do this, and even sadder, nobody pays me to do this. I put this on myself. I am the one who turns a fun little hobby into a stressor.

This year was different, though. This year, in addition to the two big holidays, and the relatively minor New Year’s celebration (because, let’s face it, I am not twenty five and in love, so who cares about New Year’s Eve, I just want to get some rest for fuck’s sake), I also planned and hosted my younger daughter’s bat mitzvah and mourned the loss of my mother in law. That is a whole lot on one plate. Shit, a platter couldn’t hold that buffet of stress, both happy and sad.

So, I am reflecting on all of this, right now, more for me than for you. Maybe you would like to reflect too. Just pretend it’s your half birthday, and join me.

·         I am pretty good at what I do. I don’t have a job outside of my house. I do, however, have almost all the jobs inside the house, except for the home repairs. I tackle these jobs regularly and repeatedly. They are mostly thankless, but honestly, if I didn’t do them seamlessly, everyone would notice. I run a tight ship, whatever the hell that means. I don’t know much about sailing, but I do know what is for dinner tonight and how much milk we have and whether we have enough food for the cats and the hamster. I know when the last load of laundry was completed and when the next will be started. I know who hasn’t done the homework, and I also know that we have plenty of white poster boards, paint, and glue sticks in case we have an emergency project. I know all the things in the house. If you can’t find it, come to me. I know exactly where it is, even if I haven’t seen it in two years.

·         All of the family’s health needs are current. No one needs any prescriptions. All the doctor’s visits have been either completed or scheduled. If there are runny noses, I have plenty of Sudafed, Mucinex, and Kleenex to cover them. I maintain a complete pharmacy at all times, and almost none of it is expired.

·         My daughter’s bat mitzvah was a beautiful thing. She was amazing, and her day was amazing. She had exactly what she wanted. I did not exceed my budget. I loved all my guests for attending, and I understood those who couldn’t be there. I enjoyed the day, no matter how stressful the days leading up to it.

·         I am glad my mother in law is at peace. I have been making dinner for my father in law several days a week since she has passed, and he has been joining us at our table. He gets out of his house, even if I don’t really like him driving. I love to have him over. He sees us as we are, discussing politics, history, whatever odd topic comes up at the dinner table. I am giving my children a gift in this time with their grandfather. We put down our cell phones, we turn off the television, and we are a family, like an old fashioned one, only without the pearls and post dinner cigar, and yes, with the occasional F word. My younger daughter burped last night in front of him, my southern father in law. He is part of the family, and she is comfortable to be a person, and he laughed and was okay with all of it.

·         I need to learn to stop setting crazy ass goals for myself like writing 12,000 words in a month and a half. Seriously, why did I even come up with that in the first place? Why not the 8 blogs of Hanukkah? Isn’t that good enough? Isn’t any of it good enough? Writing is not my career. It is something I do that makes me happy, when I have or make time for my happiness. I shouldn’t allow it to become a chore, unless I start to do it for money, in which case let me add it to the to-do list. It is very difficult to know when to set big goals, and when to give yourself a break. I need to work on that.

Don’t worry about me. I have plenty to keep me busy now that the holidays and the bat mitzvah are over. Don’t feel like you need to give me a call and ask me to do anything else, no matter how small or how much I like you. I don’t want to do more. My new goal is to do the right amount, and hopefully I will figure out what that is.

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.