There are only so many balls I can juggle in the air, and setting up the Christmas tree by 1 December early December December is turning out to NOT be one of them.

Last year, while still doey eyed about the whole Mommy business and wanting desperately to set traditions in the House of H that have never been important before, I decided that a Christmas tree was imperative, replete with Darling Decorations and (some) homemade, meaningful Christmas baubles. And then I decided to bake a Gingerbread Tardis for my husband, which turned into a Gingerbread House, which turned into Gingerbread Biscuits… which were ALL a flop.

Which is just as well, because I’ve never liked eating gingerbread anything. And I’m not just saying it because of sour grapes.

THIS year, I’m behind on so many things. I’ve wanted, for days, to

  1. finish some freelance work by some deadline I had set for myself (today, in fact)
  2. write a magazine article about the crazy imperative one feels to Create New Traditions as soon as one procreates a munchkin.
  3. finish off my Christmas shopping for family (almost done, actually). Except I keep getting thwarted by photo labs.
  4. continue toilet training the munchkin more regularly, so she doesn’t think the potty is something to be transported to various parts of the house to facilitate some light reading by Mommy
  5. blog about how long my days are, yet how short the year’s felt
  6. put up the Christmas tree.

Whereas all I’ve managed to do is keep the house reasonably uncluttered, the family’s tummies filled, the freelance work chugging along (albeit at a slower rate than I would’ve liked), and my bleary eyes still staying open.

A Christmas tradition phail, perhaps. But still 24 hours a day well spent.