The fat lady would sing, if she weren't afraid she'd wake up the whole house

At some point on Christmas Eve, I completely stop stressing. Everything I've been able to do has been done. This year I managed to:

put a few strands of lights out
decorate two trees
perform Christmas music with various groups eight times
go to about 10 parties
drive to New England to see our families
buy, wrap, and ship presents for far-away friends
buy and wrap presents for many family members
tip the staff at my club
tip the grocery guys
tip the doormen at my building
fill four stockings

I did not:

send out cards
fill the windowboxes with cute greenery
bake anything
tip the paper boy, mail lady, or garbage guys
get much of anything for That Stud Muffin I Married
go caroling
make it to church, except when I was singing in the choir

But. What I've done is done. What's left undone, I won't sweat. That's the difference between me and Martha Stewart. (Well, that, and about 10 years and a billion dollars.) Unlike Martha, I realize that I won't get everything done. I don't expect anything to be perfect.

I hope my children like their presents; I hope my family enjoys coming to visit; I hope my jeans will zip come New Year's Day; I hope my blogging friends enjoy their holidays.

As I sit here, having wrapped the final present and stuffed the final stocking, I'm enjoying a much-deserved glass of wine. Here's to a messy, human, imperfect, loving Christmas.

Cheers!