Five Reasons Holidays Stress Me Out

Holidays are supposed to be “free” days that you spend doing something wonderful, right? Well, not for me.

I find myself terrified by past experiences where stereotypical female skills were expected of me during the holiday season. I don’t have those skills. I can’t even attend bridal showers that involve favorite recipes, because I don’t have one. [quote button_text=”Tweet the Quote”]I’ve never found a recipe that didn’t hate me.[/quote] The kitchen and I have a mutual dislike for each other. I walk in the room and whatever is on the stove begins to burn and boil over.

Once, on a family beach trip, my only job was to fix the tater tots. They ended up scorched on the outside and frozen on the inside. I messed up tots.

Here are five other reasons I begin to sweat when holidays are near . . .

  1. I never remember holidays. I am the person pulling up to work on Labor Day, wondering where everybody went. Five concussions before the age of nine plus menopause equals a woman whose brain is more like an etch-a-sketch than a steel trap.
  2. I am the hostess with the leastest. I don’t care if my plates match my cups. I find tablecloths worrisome, and my fancy meals involve butcher block paper so it can be thrown out. I tried to find a table set up like a doctor’s, with the paper roll that can be pulled and replaced easily.
  3. I don’t like picnics or outdoor barbeques. When I eat, I don’t want to be outdoors battling for my food against the ants and bees and other critters. I’m a classy Dame. I want to have my food on a nice plate, placed carefully on a t.v. tray in front of the television.
  4. I am horrible at gift giving. Most holidays involve some kind of gifts. My children have learned to just give me a list, and have been known to threaten my life if I stray from said list. That straying is what caused The Partridge Family retro lunchbox debacle of 1998.
  5. Holidays remove the framework of each day. I am barely in my body  most of the time. I’m this shotgun spirit, with my synapses and energy firing off in a million different directions at a time. Without a plan for my day, a world of possibilities open up. Instead of being thrilled, I become a rock, sitting on the couch for 14 hours, paralyzed by the sheer number of choices offered up to me.

Don’t think I haven’t tried to enjoy holidays . . .

That’s right, I have ordered more holiday organizing paraphernalia than you shake a Franklin-Covey pen at. I once had a birthday calendar that was spiral bound so you could write down the birthdays and have pockets for the cards. I did it all. I called every member in the family, got all of the birthdays, went out and spent a fortune on cards for every single person, and put them in the folders.

January passed, at which point I realized I’d forgotten to look at my calendar. Then I had two birthdays written on incorrect dates in February. I sent also sent a birthday card for a small boy to my aunt.

I try, I really try, but the bottom line is holidays are for organizers. And I am many things, but an organizer is not one of them.  The thought of holidays make me break into an immediate hot flash.

What about you? Do you love the holidays? Do you have any holiday organizational tips for me? Recipes? Anything?