By Guest Blogger Kelley Eanes
Welcome, People of Christmas, to the finish line; we have almost made it through.
We have created merriment and made memories for years to come. We’ve stuffed sweet protesting cherubs into lovely holiday attire for school/dance/martial arts/underwater diving/insect club of America festive fanfare galore. In addition, we have spent another year masked up and avoiding contact only to wait in lines reminiscent of Disney in order to hop on the lap of a stranger dressed in red. In short – we have done all. the. things. Yes, we are almost there. Some of us anyway.
At this point at least half of you have shopped your lists and checked them twice. Undoubtedly, you are sitting near an open fireplace with your feet up, sipping eggnog and watching Hallmark movies. Every once and awhile your manicured itinerary for the next two-weeks changes and you simply slip on over to your Google doc and update the information. Your angels skip about in Christmas themed PJ’s looking more like models than bed-headed children who refuse to eat anything but candy canes. You are almost there and we are happy for you.
The rest of us? We are not even sure where there is anymore and it certainly does not have a Google doc to assist us. Overtaken with fumes of pine and peppermint, we cannot be held responsible for the things frantically purchased in these final hours.
Does he already have this? I don’t know.
Is this the right size? Do we even care?
Eighty-two dollars seems like a lot for a Metallica sweatshirt? It’s organic.
One would think years of repeated cycles would garner different behaviors, but it turns out… for the People of Christmas at our house at least… it does not. Year after year we repeat the exact same scenarios. We order gifts and hide the boxes in special places for good keeping. Let me tell you, right now Sis, the keeping must be good because those boxes never come back.
Legos? Gone. Bubble Machine for our toddler? Lost. Christmas tree decorating kit lost last year but then re-found this past November? Missing. Again.
At this rate we are harboring a toy store that could rival Target… but we just can’t put our fingers on it.
And, since we don’t actually open the few boxes we can locate until the final hour, we are forever in a panic when what we ordered is not inside of them. The pink scooter turned out blue, the multi colored hoverboard was actually black, the Tonka dump truck looks a lot like a princess crown. The list is quite impressive.
If you need me December 21-23rd, I can without a doubt be found wandering the aisles of Target muttering concerningly to myself. Resembling someone residing in a restaurant dumpster, I will no doubt find myself face to face with my kids Head of School, teacher, or the pastor of our church. Many years ago, I turned the corner of an extremely early shopping run to find my mother-in-law’s cousin. I have never regretted the decision to leave my bra on the floor of my bathroom more.
Hi, so great to see you… nope, I didn’t get a haircut, this is just what crazy looks like. Merry Christmas.
The last-minute unboxing technique not only leads to wrong, sometimes it leads to just plain missing. This is how I ended up on the phone with the American Girl Doll customer service at midnight on December 23rd.
Hi! Merry Christmas! I’m calling because my email says an order was delivered in November, but I’m just now noticing it is actually not here. Yes, I’ve checked all the places and I just don’t think it ever came.
After 20 minutes of back and forth we decided to recheck the delivery information. Turned out I had the order delivered to our previous address across town. My husband hopped in his truck and emerged from the chaos that is last minute Christmas shopping traffic 30 minutes later with an untouched package. Waiting for us since November. A Christmas miracle indeed.
Regardless if your method of these final hours includes Hallmark and hot coco or elbows thrown at the 8 a.m. opening of Target, I have come to realize it all seems to work itself out in the end. Often the “must haves” we splurge on are overshadowed by the finds from Five Below. People of Christmas, the real gift is the joy of being together… one day my kids will figure that out too, but until then, if you need me… I’ll be in the attic.
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