A month goes by...

So begins my attempt at a series of Pre-Christmas blogs. Last year, I brought you some doozies. This year I hope to not disappoint!
The date, December 1, was blinking on the orange glow of my alarm clock, yet, I hadn't an ounce of strength, will, or heck, even ability to remove myself from beneath the covers. Although, I had removed the covers about 221 times over the night, during my frequent "night sweats." It's hell being female, sometimes, especially when you're missing some of the required parts. Besides that, I had the worst case of gastroenteritis I can ever remember, which was proudly kicked off by a round of the technicolor yawn in my cousin's toilet, during one of the debut parties for my lia sophia business. Who feels sorry for me? Come on...I left the house for the party, feeling smart in my pressed khaki pants and (supposedly) stylish, fitted denim jacket, smelling success in the air. I left in a much more humble state, as I carried my leftover Walmart plastic bags to the car with me, just in case I tossed my cookies on the way home.
The thing is, when you're a mom, you abandon the notion of "being cared for." You live and breathe to care for your children, your pets, your home. You, in fact, are a sub-creature of your own life. You're simply the body that performs the tasks that keeps everyone else thriving. When I do become ill, I remember vividly a time or two I was under the weather and staying with my grandmother. She was amazing. Have I ever mentioned that? I remember laying on her couch, drinking Sprite from yellow Tupperware cups, watching General Hospital. I remember the times I'd have to make it to the bathroom, and she'd not only escort me there, but she would stroke my hair, speak gently and, with great intestinal fortitude,clean up any mess I may have made. I never saw her flinch, or turn away, or even imply that I was too much for her to handle. That, my friends, is pure love. I suppose, however, I do that now, for my kids. I realize all of the disgusting things I've put up with; things that, as a teenager, I would've contorted my face about, and exclaimed how "GA-ross" they were. There was a time period, a long one, at that, when I swore I'd never have children. Time passes, lives change, right?
December began, like it or not, and I'll mark the day in rememberance, as the one I spent on the couch, with my new Black Friday steal, a Target Christmas blanket and my eyes barely in focus on the television. I don't really know what my kids did all day. They behaved, I suppose, and no one bled. All in all, a success. I think my oldest is finally at the age where the human in him is beginning to surface, and he can, for brief periods, be kind and considerate. I hope I am not speaking too soon, on that, but he did bring me a lemon-ice and a spoon, and he did get his sister a bottle and refrained from beating the bloody heck out of his brother that day.
Brighter days of upcoming Christmas cheer are ahead, though. I am well again, and there are only two more grueling weeks of school before a much-needed break. It's Christmastime in the city, friends, and whether you can hear Silver Bells or not, we can look at it one of two ways. In a month, not much changes. The time will pass, regardless of how you choose to celebrate, or not celebrate. Yet, everything changes. I tend to become lost in October/November/December, bulking it all together in this "holiday" package with sparkly wrapping because, well, I can. In the glimmer and glitz of the holiday mayhem, however, lives still go on: some people are more jolly, some people still suffer... I, however, try to keep some spirit alive, because just around the corner, there is still a let-down to experience...it's the ultimate disappointment that, (if you let yourself travel this road) in a matter of weeks, it'll be over. It'll be January. Either way, keep your head up. There are still 22 days to shop.