Not to sound like a Grinch…but I dread Christmas shopping this year. Finding the perfect gift for someone is a task I do not like to half-ass. The joy of seeking & discovering something JUST RIGHT for a loved one is very satisfying, but the hunt is time-consuming and stressful. As some of you may know, I am home as a caregiver almost 24/7 with a child who is unwell, a child whom I wouldn’t dream of dragging with me to a packed mall. My free time is, at this point, limited to 4 am-7 am, or 4 am-9am on a work day…and the odd evening that I might slip out for an hour to remember who I was before Brain Goblins attacked my kid and changed our lives in ways we could not have expected.

I can barely juggle my day-to-day; I try, but the truth is, most days are an epic fail. How am I going to juggle the hurricane of holiday expectations? The shopping alone just boggles my brain. I cannot imagine how I might–? No. You know what? I give up *tired laugh* I can’t. I’m throwing in the towel. I’m waving the white flag. Done. Out. Nope. Can’t. Everyone’s getting the same thing.

Dear People on my Xmas List: I’m going to one store, and buying 55 of the exact same thing. If you’re lucky, the mood to Christmas shop won’t strike when I’m at the sex shop. “Yes, Virginia, I DO SO want 55 COCKASAURUS REX dildos. PUT THEM IN THE GODDAMN BAG AND TAKE MY CREDIT CARD.” 

Holiday problems: SOLVED.

Points scored: zero

Stress accumulated: minimal

Guilt: Fuck guilt. I’m letting myself off the hook this year.

How are you handling holiday crunch time?

Greed: I want a cookie for breakfast.

Me: You’re having an egg.

Greed: Pfft. An egg is not a cookie.

Ego: We’re so smart.

Me: Shut up, the both of you. We’re having an egg and tea and getting back to work.

Greed: Cookies are good. There’s one cookie left.

Me: No. I’m not eating a cookie before dawn!

Ego: We can tell time. We know about nutrition. We’re smart.

Greed: The cookie is right by the kettle. I can eat it while I’m making tea.

Logic: To be fair, a cookie eaten while making tea is not a meal. That’s a snack.

Me: Whose side are you on?

Logic: Ours? If we eat the cookie, they’ll be gone, and we can’t be tempted to eat cookies if they’re gone.

Ego: See? So smart.

Me: No snacks before breakfast!

Greed: So we can have the cookie after breakfast.

Logic: That isn’t exactly what we said.

Me: The cookie IS NOT HAPPENING.

Logic: The only way to assure that is to throw it in the garbage.

Greed: *chokes*

Me: *hesitates*

Logic: But that would be a waste…wasting is not smart.

Ego: We’re smart. Mom said so.

OCD: *psssst* ((You have to be smart. The opposite of smart is dumb, and dumb is not acceptable.))

Me: *mumbles with mouth full* I hate you all. *brushes cookie crumbs off shirt*

OCD:  ((If there are no home-made cookies in your house, maybe you’re not a good enough mother.))

Me: Oh for fuck’s sake. Since when?

OCD: ((I’m just trying to help you be a good person. You have no cookies. Other people are allowed to fall down on the job, but not you. Better get baking.))

Logic: “Fall down on the job?” Who are you kidding? Have you seen her laundry? Look at the dust bunnies under the couch. And those windows could use a shine…

Me: I’m going to stab you both with a fork in a minute…

OCD: ((But Allison feels like a good mother after she’s baked treats for the kids. Let’s guide her toward feeling good…))

Greed: Cookies do help us write.

Me: There’s no data to support that theory!

Ego: Data. Theory. *proud grin* We’re so smart. Mom was right.

Logic: Mom was biased.

OCD: ((Uh oh, does that mean you’re dumb? That’s not allowed…))

Me: ARGGHHH!! *goes for the fork*

Muse: *clears throat* Are we doing this or what? *taps foot* … *points to desk* I’ve got an idea… you know that reporter at the crime scene? …look at this… *wicked little smile*

At 7 this morning, I crept upstairs to wake my ten-year-old son for school. This must be done with caution, as he suffers from “sleep-walking without walking” occasionally, and I’m never quite sure if he’s going to open his eyes and actually see me, or if his head’s going to spin twice around like the little girl in the exorcist and he’ll start speaking in tongues. Apparently,  I was too quiet in my approach.

Derek: MOM! You scared the beans out of me.

Me: The beans? You mean the ‘bejeezus?’

Derek: No, beans are a thing. What’s a bejeezus?

Me: Pass. Next question.

Derek: I can’t ask questions. My heart ‘sploded, and I have no more beans in me.

Me: Beanless! And on a Wednesday! That’s unheard of, and frankly tragic. I’ll alert the media.

Derek: *looks at me funny* You’re weird, Mom.

Me: ME? You’re the one who lost his beans.

The boy shoves his legs in some pants, puts on the same socks he had on yesterday (the “lucky” ones), counts the Halloween mini-chocolates on his dresser to make sure there’s still exactly ten, checks them again, and then one more time. Then he pulls on his ninja mask and gives me a pointed look through the eye hole.

Derek: Prob’ly, you should sleep in tomorrow, Mom. Getting up early is making you strange.

Have a delicious Halloween, ghouls. I will be spending mine handing out treats to costumed bobbins (if today’s rain doesn’t keep them away) and watching old scary movies. Hopefully, it will be a clown-free holiday. *eeep!*