It’s that time of year again. Car parks in the shopping centres are becoming increasingly crazy and a little old lady nearly ran me over in her quest to find candy canes that hadn’t been shattered to pieces by excitable toddlers.
It’s a strange time of year. School is wrapping up finally and people, while supposed to be infused with holiday spirit, are just seeming grinchier.
I blame money.
I tried to take a photo of my Christmas tree the other night. Pretty lights flashing, tinsel catching the light, and a half grown cat clinging to the trunk of the tree, freaking out and destroying the entire thing.
Christmas trees were not made for households with toddlers and cats. My floor is littered with baubles, torn down, thrown away, batted around. There is a thin veneer of glitter over everything; the herpes of the craft world.
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It was warm today, pushing 30C during the afternoon. Evelyn ran around naked, refusing to eat and drink. By 5pm she was angry, tired, thirsty. She flailed, and fought, and screamed, and refused everything.
We went to bed at 5.30pm, with a couple of books and a soft blanket. 90 minutes later she wasn’t asleep (dammit) but she was ready to join the household again. I’m not looking forward to Evelyn in summer. She doesn’t deal well with heat, and when you add liquid refusal to the mix, it has the potential to be an incredibly crappy few months.
But at least it will be crappy with sunshine. These are the silver linings.
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We see her doctor this week. I’m nervous, hoping to find a solution to all the feeding issues, but also hesitant to pin too much hope on one person. There are no silver bullets here. I learned to stop hoping for magic a long time ago.
What we do have is a strong team, a dietician and speech pathologist advocating for us, and a support network spanning the entire Internet.
I am more grateful than you know.
50,000 words in 29 days.
I’m dead, dying, exhausted. But also exhilarated.
By all accounts, November has been good to me this year. I’m writing regularly at Money Circle, Evie is being positively delightful and the year is starting to wrap up.
But for now, you can find me curled up on the couch, catching up on the TV I’ve missed this month, and reading escapist fiction.
Unlike last year, I finished my story this time. I got to write THE END in giant letters at the end and everything. It will gain some extra words during editing when I smooth my scene transitions and fix my plot holes (does anyone know where the dog was hiding in chapters 2-5?), but FINISHED.
Finished finished finished finished.
First draft FINISHED. THE END. Giant big letters proclaiming me DONE.
Feels good Internet. Feels good.
I know. It’s not December yet, and so what I’m going to say might make a small portion of you really grumpy. Because CHRISTMAS IS COMING AND YOU CAN’T STOP IT.
Phew. Obviously I needed to get that out of my system.
My house is covered in tinsel vomit and abandoned baubles. Everyone is happy.
The kids have been begging for the Christmas tree since the beginning of November, asking when we were putting it up, could we decorate the house, when are we doing the treeeeeeee. It was getting annoying. Tonight we gave in and amidst much carolling and excited squealing, Nathan put up the tree. You’ll note I said “Nathan” not “We”, because I didn’t help. Instead I made Naan bread and sang badly while I got to watch everyone else do the work.
I must say, this was the best tree putting up ever. Yes. I went there. Not being involved was awesome.
Our Christmas tree is passive aggressive. I don’t think I told you that story, but a few years ago, I asked Nathan to go and buy a fake tree. He agreed, and then didn’t do it. I asked him over the course of two weeks, before finally, he went down to Big W and bought the biggest tree they had.
“She wants a Christmas Tree? THERE. Have a GIANT FUCKING TREE.”
It’s kind of awesome. It made me smile then, and it’s made me smile every year since. Giant Christmas Trees – a passive aggressive way of saying I love you.
It’s been interesting to watch Isaac transition to the holiday season. Pre-kinder is almost over and we feel that he’s ready to start in February when school goes back. But the end of the year is always a chaotic time, with orientations and parties and endings and beginnings. I’ve come to the conclusion that he is our very own holiday grinch, and I am okay with that. He had a meltdown earlier because we wouldn’t turn the Christmas Carols off. Despite being a boy who likes music (but not lots of people singing, like say, at a school choir), christmas carols are just a bit too much.
He will be all right.
I’m watching Evie right now, pulling off all the Christmas balls. I warned everyone this would happen – to leave the bottom section undecorated. But no.
If the Christmas tree survives and stays decorated until Christmas day, I’ll count that a success.
I’m not quite sure where the year has gone, to be honest. Lost in a haze of appointments, worry and PND I suspect. But I’m ready for it, ready for the holidays, and Summer, and long days without any plans.
It’s going to be nice.
When I was a child, I distinctly remember searching for my shoes in my bedroom. It must of been the end of the long weekend, and I rarely wore shoes at home if I could help it (I rarely wear shoes at home now too – some things never change). I found one sandshoe, but the other one was lost.
This was a big problem, because I only had one pair of shoes, and one pair of gumboots, and you couldn’t wear gumboots to school.
Eventually we found my shoe, and big sighs of relief abounded, because shoes are important. I think I used to have dreams about being barefoot at school with people laughing at me. Related: I don’t have pretty feet.
I remember being astounded, as I got older, that some people had more than one pair of shoes. They had dress shoes even. Adults had lots of shoes? REALLY?
Now I have lots of shoes, and they’re pretty.
I’m writing more about my childhood and poverty over on Money Circle today, and why it feels like I’m rich today.