Help me, somebody. Please.
I love my children. I really do. Love, love, love, love, LOVE them. Let’s get that on the record right now, for all time. They are wonderful people, and I am very proud of them.
I’m just not sure I need fourteen-plus days of Christmas break togetherness time with them.
I had all these grandiose plans about how I’d use this time. Ready for a laugh? Here goes:
• Paint their rooms (*SNORT!*);
• Clean and organize the closets;
• Read about 20 books on my TBR;
• Complete the normal number of pages on my WIP.
Ask me how much of this I’ve accomplished. Go ahead. Ask. Ask me how many books I’ve finished. Ask me how many words I’ve written. Ask me how many closets have been organized. No, wait. Don’t ask. I’ll tell you:
NONE.
That’s right. NONE.
I have no idea where the time has gone, or what I’ve done with it. All I know is that I feel like I’ve regressed to those newborn days, when survival is the only thing on your mind and you look around at, say, two p.m. to discover you haven’t even showered yet.
The end seems to be in sight, thank goodness, and I can hold on a little while longer.
I just pray that Monday isn’t a snow day.
Anyone else out there getting a little, ah, frazzled?