This morning I woke up in a terrible mood; it was Christmas Eve day and nothing at all was right. The T.V. was blaring, bowls of soggy breakfast cereal were strewn across the kitchen counter, the litter box stank, my hair was sticking straight up. In 48 hours Christmas will be over and damnit where was my mother-fucking-Martha-Stewart holiday?
My problem is that I’m a perfectionist and I have this image in my head of the Holidays. I want my home to perpetually smell like peppermint, cinnamon, and cloves. There should be warm, fuzzy, glowing light everywhere. None of the holiday pictures should have baskets of unfolded clothing heaped in the background. Despite the baking, my bright red sweater should still fit. Johnny Mathis Christmas carols are playing and not blaring iCarly commercials on the television.
I had such lofty goals: handmade gifts for everyone, handmade wrapping paper and tags, handmade ornaments, nothing handmade that looks handmade. All the warm, perfect, glowiness will be documented on the Blog Jar and then ApartmentTherpay, Desgin*Sponge, and Craft will call and ask to photograph my perfect home and beg me to show them the path to a warm and DIY Christmas. Anna Maria Horner, Jenny Hart, and Amy Butler will be my best friends. I’ll quit my job and write articles and continue making perfect holidays. Oh, and Sam and Hope and the cat will sit around discussing how loved, comfortable, and happy they are since I make such beautiful things.
Obviously I have my head up my ass. I spent the morning angrily cleaning and moping and full of holiday gripe. Then I started the crying for no reason. I was having a pre-Christmas meltdown. Sam took Hope out for the afternoon to do some last minute Christmas deliveries and I put on the Johnny Mathis Christmas carols and decided to do some more baking. I find that the smell of carbs in the oven tends to sooth ravaged nerves. Once I had peppermint bark cooling in the fridge and gingerbread in the oven, I began to think about all of the things I have done. The tree was up by Thanksgiving weekend, the gifts are wrapped, Christmas cards went out along with baked goods, I hosted the library staff party at my house, I handmade a few things, the house was relatively clean, I did a hell of a lot of baking, etc… In other words nothing was perfect, but many things were right.
I decided things needed to change before Sam and Hope were miserable. I was trying to make everything perfect and happy for them and instead I was barking mad. Once I accepted that yelling and scrubbing the floor whilst glaring would not a Martha Stewart Christmas make I calmed down and actually began to enjoy Christmas and Sam and Hope decided not to lock me out of the house in the rain.
Baking continued, we attended an awesome Christmas party at Inman Perk, and the house is set for Christmas morning.
And I think this makes for a pretty perfect Christmas:
Right now — not a creature is stirring: Sam is snoring blissfully on the couch, Hope is snuggled in bed, the cat is curled up on the floor. I love all three of them — Sam, Hope, and Beau the Cat — I’m quite sure my heart is has swelled up at least three sizes too big.