1. Going to Walmart during the next seven days. For anything.
2. Making cookies from scratch. Sorry. Pillsbury sugar cookie dough is good and my kids don’t care anyway.
3. Making gingerbread houses. I don’t think I can handle the stress of having five children cry because the walls won’t stay up. Maybe when they’re older. Like 30.
4. Worrying if my son inadvertently wore his only red plaid “Christmas” shirt today instead of waiting until Christmas like I wanted. Oh well. It’s a shirt, for crying out loud!
5. Stressing out. (Serenity Now!)
6. Fretting because my children won’t be just like the children in the Southern Living feature article about the family in the ultra-Christmas-decorated antebellum house. I’d be willing to bet those children started whacking each other with foam swords as soon as the photographers left. (And that the master bedroom closet was a disaster area.)
7. Diving at children with a brush and comb before they head out to the tree Christmas morning so they’ll look “nice” in the photographs. You should see some of the pictures of me as a child. (Well, no you shouldn’t.) Why deprive my children of the same pleasure?
8. Feeling guilty because I find out some other family has children who “gave all of their presents to the poor and spent Christmas day at the soup kitchen.” Good for them.
9. Going caroling.
10. Losing my peace because things aren’t “good enough”, “cheerful enough”, “handmade enough”, “peaceful enough”, etc. I will be grateful for what I have. I will be happy in the moment and content. No one knows what another day brings.