Ho fricking ho

I don't know how I feel about Christmas this year. We have an insane schedule as always, and I have a sort of resigned determination to pull it all off -- the tree-decorating, gift-buying, gift-wrapping, card-sending, cookie-baking, tray-making, driving-celebrating-driving-naptime-driving-celebrating nightmare that is this holiday.

It must all be accomplished. In a handful of days. With a toddler.

So far, it's been a bumpy road. I put 1,862 lights on the Christmas tree, plugged it in, and the middle of the tree was dark. (It is no longer a "Christmas tree" but a "Fricking Christmas Tree.") I baked two batches of cookies, decided I need to go on a diet, and gave them all away. Of course, now, Saturday I'm in charge of bringing cookies (as well as sausage, cheese, and crackers) to the first of many Christmas parties to come, and have a window of only a few hours to bake, do laundry, and wrap presents tonight, since tomorrow night is earmarked for light-seeing with grandparents.

Ho fricking ho, everyone!

Diaper tree courtesy of Fletch