Scrooge

Yep, I am officially the family Scrooge.

Just got done fighting with my husband about what item on my to-do list should be dropped. And by "got done fighting," I mean, I walked out of the room yelling behind me that if he can't answer the question he just asked me, he wasn't listening to me the whole time, and he can figure it out by his damn self. Way to go, Maura. And Blessed Nativity, everyone, by the way.

I really, really hate it when people tell me not to do something. So I'm upstairs trying to figure out exactly what it is that makes my blood boil when those words escape the lips of my loved ones who, without fail, are most certainly just trying to help. And I think I've got it, actually.

Usually, when someone tells me, "seriously, Maura, you're just trying to do too much. Let this one go," it's because I'm stressed and they're trying to help me get not-stressed. But I'm stressed because, over the past five years or so, my life is chronically broken. I get one piece back where it's supposed to go, and something else crumbles. It's like holding back the raging waters behind a crumbling dam by poking your fingers and toes in the holes. So, my point is this: I've finally come to a place in my life that I'm tired of getting buried and drowning under the broken dam. I am taking on too much because I'm trying to fix what's broken. I'm trying desperately just to make things better. And what do I get? Seriously, Maura, just take your thumb out.

So yeah. I go from zero to ready-to-slap in 10 seconds flat. Not that I slapped my husband. I am almost certain I did not do that.

I am definitely at a something's-gotta-give kind of a place, that's for sure. I just don't know what. Which hole will not make the dam break, exactly? I don't like it when someone else suggests they know which one I should pick; it feels insulting, like I didn't have a good enough reason to plug that hole in the first place. But I need their help. And...I keep smacking the hands trying to help me up. Again, figuratively.

Due to an attempt to follow budget restrictions, I chose to knit small projects for everyone. Some finger puppets for William (that are, actually, as the pattern claims, supposed to knit up in about 20 minutes a piece), some mittens here, a little toy there. Unfortunately, the GRE ended up getting put off until three days ago, and I have some serious knitting to do between now and Wednesday. Oh, and actually, I should be doing the laundry and making packing lists and planning William's food for the next week, as we'll be out of state until just before New Years'. Oh, and actually, I've also been sick the past few days. And I'm not talking yucky headache sick. I'm talking can't-crawl-out-of-bed, can't-open-my-eyes nonsense. I have slept ALL WEEKEND. All weekend. This is not good news for anyone in my family as far as Christmas presents are concerned.

Oh yes, this is what should be eliminated, is it? Because Christmas is not about presents? Hm. Well, it isn't. But. A large part of it may be spent trying to avoid criticism for your always, always, always poor planning and organization. Or you may spend Christmas wishing you weren't such a melonhead for not being as thoughtful as everyone else was this year about you. You might sit there wondering, with all this family around you, how many of them are staring at you thinking about how you just get to be a bigger, less considerate mess every single year.

You might wonder how in the world you're supposed to be this person who has any time left over to think of anyone but herself, her own health, her own stresses. How anyone else is supposed to get the hint from you that you give a crap about them if you never have a minute to call them, drop in for a visit, dash off an email, or think about what they like long enough to buy or make them a Christmas present.

So, no. I'm not feeling real keen on crossing that one off my list. What else is left, then?

Time with my husband? No. It's already suffering, so no. I'm not crossing off more.
Time with my kids? No. Also suffering already.
Time cooking? Ha. Hahaha. I'll pretend I didn't laugh very hard. Let's move on.
Time cleaning? What cleaning? If you asked that, you haven't visited my bathroom lately.

So what isn't suffering?

William, while he's at school. It's the only time of day he gets constant interaction, the kind of interaction he needs. And I'm not the one giving that to him. In fact, while they're doing all the work with him, I'm usually sitting around at a coffee shop, enjoying a nice peppermint mocha.

And my attention to grad school. That is not suffering. That gets more of my attention in a day than my children, more than my husband, more than my church or my parents.

That hurts. Well, obviously it hurts everyone else more than it hurts me. That's kinda the part that hurts.

Oh, God. What do I do?