Scratch That, I Still Hate Christmas

So, the high of my bargain gift shopping has worn off and I realize that I still hate Christmas after all. I'm pretty Scroogey every year, but I'm finding it especially hard this year to even pretend to be the least bit excited.

Maybe it's the religious undertones, however hidden under the twinkling lights and Spongebob gift wrap and commercialism. Maybe it's the whole bandwagonish-ness of the season; the more excited everyone else gets, the more I want to vomit (While shopping the other day, a woman passed me humming a holiday tune to herself and I was actually surprised to hear myself mutter under my breath "Oh, just shut up..."). Maybe it's the weather; I hate the cold and the snow and the half-hour of bundling I must do to get kids out the door. Maybe I can't get the memory of one horrible Christmas out of my mind. Maybe it's the pain-in-the-ass Christmas tree, the bottom third of which is completely dismantled on an hourly basis by the little one. Maybe it's the two-week break from school, and the added noise and chaos in my house that makes me feel like my face is going to explode sometimes. Maybe it's the overwhelming pressure; one extra obligation and expense after another. Maybe it's the parties to attend or the clothes I can't wear or the desserts I must bake or all the gifts to buy or the all the money I must spend or the all the gifts I must wrap or the guilt I feel for not sending out cards this year.

Maybe it's my impending divorce. Or that my husband seems determined to make me as miserable as he is. Or that I must somehow manage to get two inches of snow shoveled from my driveway and front walk (which probably doesn't sound especially daunting, but, at the risk of sounding like a spoiled princess, I've never shoveled snow before in my life and the idea of learning now, when I'm 7 months pregnant, just pisses me off because I think my husband should still be willing to do things like this for me, in spite of his anger, and if for no other reason than out of concern for the well-being of his child that I'm carrying). Or that I'm dreading the inevitable confrontation about the kids on Christmas: who will be where and when and for how long.

It's the first day of winter, the first real snow this season, the first day of winter break for the kids and I just can't wait for all of it to be over.

Not My Other Blog

So, a year or two ago, I created a blog to share updates and photos of my kids, mostly, with family and friends. And when I was cornered, literally, by my mother-in-law, I shared the link with her, too. And on the rare occasion that I expressed my thoughts, or opinions, or God forbid, feelings, on my blog, I inevitably heard the disparaging remarks through the grapevine, and once or twice, read them in my blog comments. I wanted to scream: "IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, STOP READING IT!"

There are times that I really want to blog about something or another, but don't, for fear of judgement or criticism. I want to blog the details about myself and my life, but don't, for fear of being accused of embarrassing family. Sometimes I want to share my opinion about something [gasp] not related to my kids or motherhood! I want to be able to bitch about people I know! I don't want to always blog as if I am a perfect mother with perfect kids living in our perfect house in our perfect suburban neighborhood. That's just not me.

But this blog is. And if you know me in real life, or from my other blog, read at your own risk.