BIG FAT WARNING: My mood is pretty darn sour today. Hormones, they are a ragin'. Why they're so bad, I actually know I'm crazy and I'm OK with it.
When I was younger -- not even a little kid, but a young adult -- I loved Christmas. I loved going through the stores, humming along with the Christmas musak piping down from the ceilings. I took great effort picking out just the right gifts for all my loved ones and friends.
I loved the hustle and bustle, the crowds didn't phase me, nor did Uncle Joe's hour-long, drunken rant over Christmas dinner about how Rush Limbaugh should rule the world.
I have distinct memories of my parents during this time. They had what one might call an attitude problem.
I'd ask them what they wanted. With a heavy sigh, shoulders slightly slouched, they'd tell me not to bother. How they really weren't into the whole gift-giving thing.
Not get them anything? Didn't they know how important it was to ME? Get with the program, people.
So today, imagine how I feel when I realize I've turned into one of those grumpy, Grinch-like beings.
Its not that I haven't tried. I always try. I write myself lists, make deadlines and have all sorts of wonderful creative ideas. But just like every year, about a week before the big day, I realize I am totally behind with no chance in hell of every catching up.
This year I thought it would be different. We had most of our decorations up early, I my lists were done. We were off to a great start.
But life has a funny way of getting in the way of my best-laid plans. First, my kids are getting older. All those traditions they loved just a year ago meet with a chorus of Moooommmmms now. So gone are the hot cocoa parties by the fire, family picture taking and other family love fest activities.
I guess I could beat them into submission, but I'm just too tired to fight.
That leaves me to sit here, shoulders slouched, head hanging low. The tree is not trimmed, the cookies not baked, and don't get me started on those handmade teacher gifts we were going to do. And when the kids ask me what I want this year, I have a new appreciation for my world-worn parents.
First, I know whatever they get me, I'll end up paying for. Second, I'll have to take them to Target or Walmart or some other crazy-making block of concrete. And that leads me to utter the following statement.
"Don't worry kids. I'm not really into the whole gift giving thing."
Crap. Its official. I've turned into my mother. Or the Grinch. Either way, I'm screwed.