The time of year where I become alarmingly inconsistent and a molten hot mess of raw emotion mixed with panic is upon us.
I had two rituals I wanted to get through relatively unscathed before all types of hell started breaking loose around here and both went down in flames.
Growing up, my family has always made a big deal of the holidays – sparkly tinsel, too many blinking lights, heated passive aggressive discussions over who was going to get to host the post-Christmas Eve mass party as opposed to the full-blown holiday dinner the next day.
So it should come as no surprise that their rabid enthusiasm passed down to the next slightly less unhinged generation to work with.
We are a little extreme when it comes to Disneyworld and Christmas.
There are bigger crimes people.
At least we aren’t waxing poetic about the crystal meth legacy left to us by our toothless parents.
To say that I consistently prep for the tree decision ritual with fair intensity would make you highly accurate and astute. You know me well.
This year however, I wanted to add one small new tradition to the list – the holiday card.
Now, before you all start booing, hissing and throwing your hopefully empty beer cans I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the type to put forth the effort it takes for a decent holiday card. I just wanted to TRY okay?
There, now that I’ve gone and admitted that I made an attempt I can tell you how it ended.
Snarling surly kids in a fit of distemper fist fighting while the shutter clicked away. Clearly we are not cut out for these types of things.
So when I open the delightful decorated envelopes and pull out the glossy smiling photos of you and your photogenic offspring wishing me peace, love and happiness this season, it will serve as a grim reminder of all my shortcomings and deficiencies in this area.