Yesterday, I felt like I was almost ready for Christmas.
All the shopping is done, except stocking stuffers and yams. The things that I haven't finished making are all in progress. The two things that I haven't started making have all the details worked out in my head, which is really the most difficult part; it's messy in there.
Of course, now I'm sick. And so are the girls. But we're not really sick, we're just that annoying kind of sick that doesn't need to lay down but walks around all prickly and oversensitive. There is a lot of hacking and nose blowing. I foresee a lot of crying in the next few days.
I feel as though someone has been beating me while I sleep. Everything is sore and someone has filled my head with cotton; I can hardly think. That in itself isn't so awful. I mean, we were going to rest over the holidays anyway. We've gone to some lengths to keep things calm and relaxed. I'll still be sitting around wrapped in a blanket, I'll just be having NeoCitran instead of hot chocolate. Not the end of the world.
So throw in a house guest. Who we didn't actually invite, but who it's kind of impossible to just flat out say no to. A house guest who doesn't actually like me.
We are going to have someone come and stay with us - from Christmas eve to boxing day - in our tiny apartment. Our tiny apartment that doesn't even have room for the four of us. We don't have a proper bathroom door. We leave our bedroom door open at night in case the girls call us. There is no privacy available in this apartment.
As I have previously complained, there is absolutely no storage in this place. We store extra toilet paper and diapers beside the couch. We have to keep our dirty laundry in the living room. Piles of fabric taking up half of the available seating. We've got boxes waiting to go to Goodwill, baskets of laundry waiting to be folded, and a giant box of felt all lined up behind the couch. First thing you see when you open the door. Not to mention we lost previously available space to the tree.
When I said we were going to have to find some place to move it all, my husband asked me why. I swear to god, if he'd been closer to me, I might have punched him in the head.
So. Long story short: Instead of quiet time enjoying my family in my pajamas, I will be uncomfortable and stressed in my own house for Christmas.
I'd probably better go scrub a floor now.