Merry Christ-huh

I have officially reached the time of my annual holiday malaise. Now, there are some, especially those I work with, who may argue I never have any Christmas spirit to begin with. They are very wrong. I love the holidays. I just don't love all the cutesy, schamry, dumb things about it. I will happily run stories about holiday shopping tips, safety hazards, or legitimate good deeds being done. However, a story about a man who has legally changed his name to Santa Claus, or a woman who dresses up kittens as elves will not hit the air on my watch and will be ridiculed loudly.

Every year I start off strong in my plans for the holidays. I have lists of people I need to give gifts to, charities I want to contribute to, and ideas about all of fun holiday activities in which I plan to partake. I picture myself taking Luke ice skating, and then rushing home with our cheeks all pink to eat cookies in front of the fire. Believe it or not, I usually almost get there. This year Ryan and I started off in a holiday sprint. We wrote more than 55 Christmas cards and mailed them December 1st. I hit several stores, including Target on a Saturday, and actually enjoyed the rush. We got a tree and decorated it -- even pausing to go out and get new lights so it would look even more festive. We even went to holiday parties -- and I dressed up AND wore make-up. However, now I think I have reached my limit.

There is still plenty to do mind you. There are presents to wrap, more cards to send out, cookies to bake, and an open house to plan. Oh, and I still need to fulfill my fantasy on the ice rink where I am not a total klutz and Luke doesn't complain because it's cold and his feet hurt. However, the most I can really muster right now is wearing pajama pants with Santa on them. I really fear if this continues I'll be visited by three ghosts, and I just don't have the time right now.

I think what I need is nog, lots and lots of nog. And by nog I mean wine.