Who knew Christmas, the gentle holiday celebrating the quiet birth of a baby savior, could be so violent? Okay, the people who go out shopping on Black Friday know. But for the rest of us who keep our heads and calmly select & lovingly wrap a modest amount of presents for our loved ones to delight in - the explosion on Christmas day can be a tad alarming.
Though I am OCDelicious, I can still revel in the joy of opening gifts with abandon and leave the cleaning for ten minutes later; I simply like to manage things into sensible piles while we unwrap - by recipient, by disposal (recycling or garbage). But this year, with my bunion-liberated foot in a festive fiberglass stocking, I could only watch the mayhem from my Recuperation Station on the couch. And no one could hear my cries for order.
I have been given a necessary lesson in how to graciously accept help this last week. I prefer to just do what needs to be done, because I have a particular way I want it but also because I generally like to do the things I do around my home. [Believe me, I have no preferred method for taking out the garbage or cleaning the cat box other than MAKE IT HAPPEN.] But when I'm weakly relying on crutches or sleeping, everything gets done the way my man & kids figure is best. And frankly, the world is still turning and my life is just as fulfilling.
My Christmas vantage point
It's all about the battles
Music & books & pretty things