If you could hear the noise in my head, it would be a long, slow, high-pitched whistle, like a tea kettle, but more annoying. Thanks to help from dear friends, we are mostly unpacked. The only boxes left are the ones filled with books and the ones I look in and say, “I’ll think about it later.” All the important stuff, mostly, has been found. The kids’ rooms are mostly set up. The kitchen is functional – I have a pot of soup simmering away right now.
And yet. . .
- There are no pictures on the walls.
- We have no Christmas tree.
- All of my books are piled in boxes in my room.
- I haven’t bought a SINGLE.CHRISTMAS.PRESENT for the kids, or anyone else.
- I have at least three knitting projects to finish before Sunday.
- We are apparently hosting Christmas brunch.
- Three of the four kids seem to be coming down with something.
- When they aren’t acting sick, the kids drag out every single toy I just put away neatly.
- I am so far behind on laundry I may resort to going to the Washateria.
- My clothes are in piles on my closet floor because I no longer have a dresser.
I’m going to go hide in my closet and breathe into a bag now.
And, yes, I realize these are all middle-class, white-girl problems, but I’m still overwhelmed.