...but I'm not. Christmas Eve is less than 48 hours away and the clock is ticking. I'm trying to finish up a dozen projects I hope to have ready for the big night. As the clock ticks, some of the projects will fall away. What's left standing on Wednesday morning will most likely be it. The rest will have to wait until next year. Or not at all.
In the case of Christmas, my crafty eyes are bigger than my crafty stomach. Pardon the analogy. It's just that I have so many ideas spinning around in my head, and not enough time, energy, or hutzpah to complete them all. Even if those ideas start forming in August, somehow, it's the night before Christmas, when all through the house, only crafters are stirring, of course, not a mouse. But why? Whose fault is this anyway?
Mmm...I blame my mother. The woman who somehow did it all come Christmastime. She somehow managed to make sure everyone was included. She was heaven-bent on making sure each child got the same amount of gifts, in one way or another. She found ways to include friends, relatives, pets, even. Christmas stockings were full, gifts from Santa underneath the tree. When we awoke in the early hours to dump out our stockings, and tear open the gifts from Santa, the tape was still fresh on the boxes, the ribbons just curled. My mother, exhausted, had barely fallen asleep when we trotted down the stairs in the early morning light. By the time she arose, to start preparations for Christmas dinner, we had made our way through fresh oranges, and chocolate, and several Christmas cartoons, maybe even Scrooge.
I wonder what I would be like with a house full of Children at Christmastime. A lot like her, I suppose, if my crafty expeditions are any telltale sign. I don't have children of my own. But I do have four darling parakeets. And I know this...come Christmas morning, their stockings will be full.