This morning I got a targeted ad for a hormone supplement with a black and white picture of some woman I assume to be famous and the quote “I forget things less often, the weight came off, hot flashes went down & my joints feel great.” I have many things to do today but I’m not tackling anything on my list just yet. I say my procrastination is warranted in order to mourn the passing of my youth. I see pink clouds in the sky from the sofa of my very messy living room, the tea kettle crackles in the kitchen, growing quieter as it starts to boil; it is time to make my tea. I watch as my snowman mug steams away, the contents deepening in color with every minute. Whatever perfection is, that first sip will be damn close.
I front crawled my way through this week, taking puffs of air to the side when I thought I could drown. I think that particular stroke is a metaphor for being a woman in this world—head down, forge onward, breathe when you can. Teaching, Momming, daughtering, Momteaching, elfing, Santaing. It has all been a big blur and I am quite certain I have forgotten a number of things in the flurry of shopping I have done. Meanwhile, Mom here has done a bulk of her shopping online and/or through Drizzly. The man from Hanson Market & Liquors dropped something off the other day and said “LUCKY MAMA!” to which she dryly replied “Lucky children.” Last night, our landline rang at 10:30. I, of course, thought “who’s dead?” because I’m Irish. Instead, I was asked if I ordered anything through Drizzly. “Nope. But I bet my Mom did!” I told him. “Well, I’m at an assisted living facility trying to deliver something but I don’t have a name.” The plot thickened. “What state are you in?” I questioned. “Virginia, ma’am.” “Well, then, I believe you have a delivery for my Aunt that her 89-year-old sister in Massachusetts ordered.” God I hope my siblings do that for me someday. If I forgot anyone on my list, young or old, I’m ordering you something through Drizzly. You’re welcome and Happy Holidays.
I feel more tired than usual this Christmas or maybe I just forgot how much damn pressure we, particularly women, place on ourselves this time of year. That on top of a full-time job is a lot, too much as a matter of fact. At what point do we all collectively say “enough now, enough.”? I found myself feeling cranky the other day, we hadn’t gotten our Christmas tree yet due to a 2 day power outage in sunny Hanson. I had planned on getting it Monday but a storm had other plans. I slogged through my Thursday and managed to get a tree up and lit by 7 pm, all after a full day’s work, then I made dinner. And I wonder why I’m tired? Of course I am. Still, my kids keep asking what we’re doing today, tomorrow, and all next week. AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Mama needs a break.
This Christmas and New Year, with my hormones now being semi-retired and chaos reigning supreme, I plan on softening my expectations of myself. I cannot do it all; I will never achieve perfection or nirvana or whatever else you want to call it. I want to live each day as well as I can with reasonable daily achievements. My hope today is for a soft landing as night falls, a cozy couch, a beer tucked in my arm, the best stretch pajama pants known to mankind, a favorite sweatshirt, the light of Christmas candles filtering the darkness out of my aging mind, and love softening the messes that have yet to be cleaned. That, for me, is perfection.