I’m to the point of the Christmas season I am nothing but stressed. There’s no joy to be had. It’s all about getting the cards out, finding time to bake, making sure every last gift is taken care of (and will arrive on time). Somewhere in there, the house still needs to stay somewhat organized and people will still want to eat three meals a day.
Saturday, the mailman delivered a box to us. It was addressed to our house, but the person it was sent to doesn’t live here. I’m assuming the sender put the wrong house number. I put the box on the kitchen counter to take to the post office yesterday. While I was at the gym yesterday morning, our labradoodle grabbed the box off the counter and tore it open. Alas, there was candy inside. She can smell any kind of food through any kind of box, and if she’s alone in the house, she will get it. The box was shredded. The return address was in about ten pieces. We did discover the labradoodle doesn’t really like salt water taffy. I stood there with one tiny piece of the box in my hand, with no clue what to do. There wasn’t anything to take to the post office. I couldn’t even piece together the return address to get in touch with the sender. I am totally mortified. Someone on our street isn’t getting the treats someone was sending her. And there’s nothing I can do to fix it. Dang dog.
We had an extra dog in the house the last five days. She’s sweet, but she’s not used to cats. Since we have two cats, it’s quite the novelty to her. She persists in chasing them, sniffing them, and wanting to play with them. The cats, of course, are having none of it. So they’ve taken to hiding out on top of the kitchen table, the sofa, the guest room bed, and even the normally-banned kitchen counter. Keela, our very typical-type-cat cat bolted from the back door, across the kitchen, up onto the stool and then the counter on the kitchen island. Apparently desperate times called for desperate measures. She made her way to the small sink in the island, and took care of business. I. Kid. You. Not. She peed, in the sink….because the dog wouldn’t let her peacefully make her way to the laundry room where her emergency box is. I would have laughed except I was already at my wits’ end this morning. You can’t make this stuff up.
We are living in a comedy of errors this week. I’m about to lose my mind. The kids are out of school in three days. I have teacher gifts to purchase and wrap. I have recipes to peruse for the long-promised baking weekend with the Princess. I’m praying to the Amazon gods boxes will be delivered at the front end of their “shipping window.” Oh yeah, and now that Little Man’s stuffed Pikachu taped our Elf Scoutie to the wall yesterday, he is convinced all his plushies are going to come to life. He wants to set up a video camera so he can see what happens in the house while we’re gone and while we’re sleeping. Lord save me. See why I don’t typically get creative with him? It just makes more work! We have nine more nights with this elf. There’s bound to be at least one more huge fail.