» Sat May 12, 2012 6:26 pm
For the last two decades I have decorated, shopped, sorted, wrapped, labeled, mailed, baked, prepped, cleaned, cooked, and hosted Christmas events. I have worried, stressed, ran endless errands, and tried to make Christmas enjoyable for every one else. I have filled my own damn stocking each of those years, and every present under the tree I knew what was in it. My husband gives me gag gifts on occasion. I hear [censored]ing and moaning, but rarely a thank you. I called my mother the other day to thank her profusely for all the years of christmas insanity she endured so that others would have good memories. If I were to show my ass, I'd be a bad mom. No matter the reason. Even if I were sick.
I am fed up with Christmas. I cannot wait to clean the whole mess of it up and get on with 2012.
Uberbanana pretty much summed it all up much better than I could.
One weekend, preferrably in January, as a gift to myself, I am going to the beach. Where I can put my bare feet in the sand, feel the waves svck the surf out from under my feet, watch wildlife, and pick up perfect, tiny seashells. Maybe I will come home after I am done. Maybe not. Every memory of the beach I have is a happy one.