I always feel a little “hung over” after a holiday. Not because of too much imbibing but because of the weird mix of 1) gratitude and contentment being with the people I love, 2) fatigue from the physical and emotional energy output, and 3) relief that we simply got the little ones through the day. (Or – recovering from whatever meltdown one or all of them had.)
My preschooler ate nothing but cookies on Thanksgiving (not exaggerating) and when I finally said “no more cookies,” his little tears spilled over as he sobbed, “But why? I love cookies!!”
Me too, buddy. You win.
Jack and I collapsed in bed Thursday night, both asleep before we could even say I love you. We used it all up on our people, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but MAN. This little kid season is a lot. The holidays are a lot.
So yesterday we stayed in our jammies until it was time to go pick out our Christmas tree, and then I got back in my jammies until it was time to go pick up dinner (all the turkey day treats we left at my sister’s house on our way to Grandma’s house). And I’m still in my jammies today, trying to correct the little ones’ sleep schedule for everyone’s sanity but mostly my own.
I’m ready to move into Christmas, but not in a rush. It’ll come together. Maybe there’s some peace to be found in moving at our own pace into what’s next, rather than barreling into it because we feel pressured by our families or neighbors or the Hallmark channel to have our holidays (and our entire lives) planned and executed to perfection. I don’t want to roll into these last 5 weeks of the year avalanching down the mountain with my hair on fire, only to crash into 2023 exhausted and resentful.
Here’s to what’s next, moving slowly and with much intention. We’ll get there whether we’re frantic or not.
HP, J 