I've got the holiday blues in a bad way. Crabby, cranky, ornery and out of sorts. It's no one thing in particular, it's how the whole lot of Christmas lands on my shoulders in a weary kind of way--all of the stupid baking and decorating and wrapping and scheduling. We're a week out and Drunk Eileen is still leaning against the wall and we haven't got a single strand of lights hanging outside. Yesterday sent me over the edge, though. A few days ago I researched a particular item I want to buy for someone and then I made the noble decision to buy it locally and not just order it online, even though that is my preferred method of shopping. I reasoned that I hadn't done much Christmas shopping, so I'd grab a few things for the kids and return a movie I'd bought for D because I learned his mother bought it for him, too.
In other words, I had grand delusions of making merry, greeting smile after smile with the other shoppers rushing home with their presents.
I drove to four stores where I walked around in a grumpy funk, not seeing anything I'd want to waste my money on and not finding the one thing I wanted to buy. There were no silver bells, not even a Salvation Army bell. No one smiled at me, either. I had this idea that gifts would call out to me from the shelves, but I walked out of every shop empty-handed. Then I sat in a parking lot and made several phone calls to track down the thing I'd set out to find. No dice. I returned the movie, grabbed stocking stuffers and went home. (Worth noting, however, that Target brilliantly set up a huge display of WINE next to all the Christmas candy and stocking gifts. It took a lot of discipline to resist cracking one open and sitting down right there in aisle 18 with it--although I suspect several other moms would have joined me.)
People, this is why most of us shop online, at home, ALONE--it's fast, easy and efficient. Yesterday afternoon was a colossal waste of my time. I was back where I started with nothing accomplished after three hours of farting around.
After school I grouched around the kids and they fought and I made dinner and cleaned up dinner and then convinced my shaggy-haired tribe to let me cut their hair. I set up the razor kit in the basement and wrapped Mr. G in an old sheet. The razor vibrated in my hand while I swept it across the front of his head. That's when I started to chuckle.
A few more swipes and the chuckles gave way to laughter.
What's so funny, Mom? Are you giving me a Mohawk?
No, buddy. This is even better.
I finished and sent him upstairs, clutching my sides and howling.
Little mullet man.
(I'm not a horrible mother, I totally shaved the back off before sending him to school this morning even though he wanted to keep the mullet. But a bad haircut was good medicine for a couple hours.)