The Worst Christmas Vacation Ever

For the past 168 hours, Mt. Vesuvius has erupted in my home.  It started with me last Wednesday, and then it hit my daughter Monday night.  This morning I woke up with severe back pain.  Either my back is complaining about sleeping too much or my kidneys have had enough (or not enough unfortunately).

I actually feel pretty good today, relatively speaking.  I don’t think I’ll be planning any seven course meals soon, but I can somewhat function.  My house, however, looks like a F5 tornado hit it.  Laundry is overflowing onto the floor, dishes are piled up everywhere, and my son’s toys are scattered everywhere.

Yesterday, I had to get our company payroll done by 2pm, or our employees wouldn’t get paid on Friday.  I realized at 12:30pm that my extra laptop I needed with Microsoft Access on it was nowhere to be found. I searched and searched.  I asked my sick daughter to get up and help because I was starting to freak out a bit.  I finally texted my husband after about 30 minutes to ask him even though I knew he had no clue.  As soon as I put the phone down, I picked up some clothes off the chaise lounge at the end of the bed, and there it was.  Hallelujah!

It shouldn’t be this way.  Why does a week off from being mom turn into a full-blown emergency?  I can tell you why.

  1. We have too much stuff.  Too much stuff equals too much clutter.
  2. I never taught my kids to pick up after themselves and turn it into a habit.  Sure, they can pick up after themselves, but it’s usually after lots and lots of nagging.
  3. Everything should have its place.  I have a place to store my laptop, but I didn’t put it back.

We are taking small baby steps to get to where we need to be.  My daughter has been cleaning out her room and has several boxes of donations ready.  Unfortunately, those boxes are sitting in my living room since the Plague hit us last week.  I’m really proud of her.  She has always been the sentimental type.  Getting her to throw anything away usually resulted in tears, so I think my husband and I gave up.

I’m thankful I still have three days until Christmas.  For the past few years, I’ve announced to the kids that no presents will be opened on Christmas morning until the house is clean.  They act like they’ve never heard me ask that before, but they know it’s the truth.  We’ve got a lot of  work to do.  So this morning, we’re getting a jump on it.   I’m just hoping my energetic six year-old son can pick up the slack for his mom and sister who are getting close to qualifying as extras for the Walking Dead.

Although this Christmas vacation hasn’t started out in the best of circumstances, I’m determined to make up for it.  A perfectly clean house doesn’t make a perfect Christmas.  It’s spending time with the ones you love and making memories…hopefully the kind that don’t involve stepping on Legos.


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