It seems there are two types of January moms: the kind who feel energized, renewed and ready to leap into the New Year and the kind who suffer from Holiday Hangover.
I am the second kind.
I looked around my house today and I had to laugh (or I would have cried!). Every single corner of every room was a horrible mess. It made me tired just looking at it.
The living room was covered with piles of ornaments and decorations ready to be packed and put back into the attic. There were Christmas gifts that hadn’t found a resting place yet and a very dry and dead tree still standing pitifully in its stand, waiting to be carried outside.
The kitchen counters were covered with leftover party food. Loaves of bread, boxes of crackers and other delicacies littered every inch of kitchen space. And, since my husband and son thought it would be hilarious to shop for my stocking gifts at a foreign grocery store, I have strange packages of “what-the-heck-is-this” food strewn about the kitchen as well.
The dining room table is littered with Christmas cards, stamps, pens and art supplies. Old and new calendars are there too, waiting to be filled in with birthdays and anniversary dates. There are piles of mail to be sorted, bills to pay, and the floor hasn’t been swept since the last party.
I’d dearly love to be the kind of mom who leaps into each New Year with gusto and energy. Sometimes at night I pretend that I am that mom. I lay in bed and make all kinds of plans about the things I’m going to accomplish. And, then the sun comes up and I struggle to get out of bed, much less clean and organize and bake and make macramé wall hangings or whatever else my delusional bedtime mind dreams up.
Because, I have a New Year’s tradition. After all the Holiday gatherings, the pre and post-holiday shopping, the cooking and cleaning and wrapping, my body just shuts down and I get sick. So far, in 2018, I’ve spent more time in bed than out of it. And, I count it as a huge accomplishment if I manage to take a shower.
But, as I looked around my pig-sty of a house, I realized something. The scattered toys are proof that I am blessed with grandkids who love coming to Nana’s house. The ornaments and decorations contain years of memories. The empty calendars are filled with hope and possibilities. And, all the remnants from the Holiday parties remind me of the people I love who were gathered in my home.
As I drag my weary body from one corner to the next, trying to bring a sense of order to my chaotic mess, I will try and keep those thoughts of blessings in my heart. Because, no matter which type of mom you are, there are blessings to be found.
