From My Kitchen Pantry. Rich and Luscious Crème Pâtissière.

Ron and I are making eclairs this pastry weekend. I had never made pastry cream before, but have made curd numerous times. I was thrilled to find out they are equally easy. I used this recipe and followed her instructions exactly and my cream turned out perfect on the first try!

The Paddington Foodie

Creme Patisserie

This weekend we’re celebrating my husband’s birthday, and as always I’m baking a celebratory cake. Last year we embarked on a serious chocoholic indulgence with a Chocolate Mousse Torte with Candied Morello Cherries and Hazelnut Praline, this year it’s to be something lighter – a berry and cream filled Pavlova. Of course for my family one regular sized pavlova just won’t do so I doubled the recipe. What to do with eight left over eggs? Make Crème Pâtissière; an idea initially inspired some time ago by Ana over at her blog Delicious By Ana.

Crème Pâtissière is a ludicrously rich and luscious French pastry cream or custard that can be used to fill all manner of desserts, tarts and cakes. Think simple fruit tarts, choux pastry puffs, mille feuille, éclairs, Napoleons and layer cakes.  In my family it is also enjoyed inelegantly and stealthily; by the spoonful, straight…

View original post 444 more words

Bright Lights, Big City

Migraines suck. It is a special kind of hell.

Before I was diagnosed with interstitial cystitis (IC) and fibromyalgia, I was just sick. No one could tell me what was wrong, just that I wasn’t dying. I couldn’t leave the house and hardly left the sofa. That went on for months until I just happened to come across an article on IC as well as a treatment (hydroxyzine). Finally I was free from the bounds of my living room and bathroom!

Fibro is awful enough on its own, but at least I was able to knit, watch tv, drive to appointments, and sometimes even meet a friend for a movie. When I’m flared I can be stuck on the sofa for days but I feel confident that the flare will end and I’ll get back to what I consider normal. As I’ve had fibro since I was 14, I was able to figure out how to still have a life.

With migraines, it’s just not possible. Not only do I have noise and light sensitivity, I have other, weirder symptoms. Some are easier to live with than others; smelling marshmallows or baked cookies is much nicer than feeling dizzy and nauseated. Driving means I have to turn my head from side to side, not to mention I can see the road whizzing by me, all of which makes my head spin. It’s like being rather drunk and that light feeling you get when you shake your head.

I spent three days this week trapped in my bed because I didn’t feel safe being alone in the house and walking around. Twice in the last week, I have blacked out and fallen. The first time took out my right knee when I landed on it. The second time I just got a bruise on my leg. But I’m terrified that I could hit my head and if there is no one home, I’m screwed.

Sometimes I can’t even watch tv because I have an auditory version of blurry vision; I can hear sounds but can’t translate those sounds into speech. It just sounds like garbled noise. That means I can’t have a conversation with my husband. I get nauseous and shaky. It’s hard to knit when you don’t have much fine motor control. It’s difficult to concentrate when you’re worried you’re going to heave, not to mention dealing with the blinding pain.

While fibro is debilitating, it is nothing compared to chronic migraines. I never thought I’d long for the days of “just” having fibromyalgia. If I had a doctor’s appointment, I could suck it up for an hour, knowing I could come home and go back to bed. With a migraine, things get cancelled. I don’t know 24 hours ahead how I will feel; I could feel perfectly fine ten minutes before needing to leave to go somewhere then get hit with blinding pain and nausea and not be able to leave my bed let alone my house. As much as I hate to pay $40 for a missed visit, it’s much cheaper than dealing with a car accident. I wouldn’t drive while drunk so I’m certainly not going to drive while migrainous.

I am incredibly lucky because my family is sympathetic. My husband gets (bad for him) migraines and has to just sleep through them so he knows somewhat how I feel. My daughter gets aura without migraine, so she realizes just how awful all the accompanying symptoms are. That means dinner still gets made, floors are still swept, and laundry still done even when I’m out.

About the only thing I’ve found that is a useful preventive is cranial sacral massage. While it’s not a good rescue solution, it can prevent or abort an attack. I can easily lie on a table and let someone massage my head and neck as long as I don’t have a raging migraine. Of course then I end up with crazy Einstein hair, also known as the post-fornication look. I’m sure all the shops around the massage therapy school think that people are having mad sex in the parking lot as I’m not the only one walking around with crazed hair and a satiated glazed look in my eye.

I have hope that I’ll eventually get this figured out. It took me years with fibro before I figured out how to still have a life. It’s only been seven months since the chronic migraines started; I’m still learning what the question is so I can’t be expected to know the answer yet.

Meanwhile, I have set up a nest on my bed. I have my computer, phone, knitting, and tissue all within hand’s reach. My mp3 player is loaded with cello music as I’ve also learned that low frequency music works with my rescue meds to shorten an attack.

Ugh. Even as I type this, I can feel a migraine wavering in the background. My left eye feels tender and pressurized while my left brain has a dull ache. I already know that our plans to go out for dinner are not going to happen. Like I said, migraines suck.

 

 

I Can Hold On Fine

I received an email from a dear friend/surrogate parent asking why he hasn’t seen any posts since January. I guiltily admitted that I had not written anything. To be fair, I had no idea it had been that long. I swear yesterday was Christmas; I blinked and tomorrow I turn 47. Only 8 more months of shopping days until Christmas again. No. Someone please stop the tilt-a-whirl for a minute because I feel a bit dizzy.

I think I’ve slept through a lot of the past three months thanks to my ramped up migraines. I still have another month before I finally have an appointment with a neurologist, but thanks to a four day hospital stay after being admitted through the ER, at least I know I don’t have any tumors and my spinal fluid volume is normal. On the plus side, I did find out that I have an aneurysm (very tiny and in a spot that very rarely hemorrhages). I swear this is karma biting me in the ass for when, 25 some odd years ago that I first had pray-for-death level migraines, I joked about it being from an aneurysm. While some types certainly can cause migraines, mine is not one of them. Rather than a neurological problem causing migraines, my migraines are causing neurological problems. It’s a better situation, definitely.

That’s not the only way that karma is working overtime around here. All my younger (much, much younger and much more evil) days of flirting with married men now sees me on the other side of that equation. Intellectually, I know that my marriage is safe and sound (thank goodness this didn’t happen even just a couple of years ago), but psychologically, I know exactly how insidious attraction can be. Add in a whole lot of insecurity from being chronically ill and it’s a formula for misery. Oddly enough, this has been a positive thing. In spite of our weekly fight cycle, we’ve been spending some great quality time together, partly due to my husband’s attempts to reassure me that he’s not going anywhere. It helps that we finally have a mutual hobby.

In February at a knitting retreat, a couple of other knitters started talking about a baking competition reality series called The Great British Bake Off. Initially I was watching it with Aubrey but after passing through the living room while it was on, Ron got caught up in it. What started as simply watching episodes turned into talking about baking, and eventually we attempted our own. It’s exciting because there aren’t any local gluten free patisseries so we can’t just go buy pastries. Nope, if we want to eat this stuff, we have to make it.

I’ve always loved cooking with my husband. Making frittatas on Saturdays is one of my favorite things that we do together. But this is different. We’re both decent cooks but novice bakers so we’re learning it at the same time. Yesterday was our first go. I found a recipe for cherry-lime curd and figured it would be great in crepes. Since curd only uses egg yolk, we had four whites left over, so Ron decided to make meringue cookies as training for future macarons. I wish I’d thought to snap a pic of him looking up into the bowl of meringue as he held it upside down over his head to see if it was thick enough. He flavored them with Grand Marnier but thought they tasted too boozy. I thought they were delicious, even if they did have the texture of packing peanuts. Unfortunately, we also learned that we’re both sensitive to sorghum flour. Although Ron can have gluten just fine, sorghum gave us both a gluten-like reaction. Being sick sort of took the shine off our morning but now we know to avoid it.

In addition to migraines and baking, we now have Aubrey living at home again. Her roommate had a major health issue and had to move much earlier than expected. Rather than moving in December, she found out at the beginning of March that she needed to be out by April 1. Of course that was right when I ended up in the hospital…worst possible timing! Somehow we managed to get everything packed up during her last week and hired movers to get it all down the two flights of stairs.

Having her here is both good and bad. She’s easy to live with and I love seeing her every day but we are crammed in. If it weren’t for all the KonMari work we did in January and February, we wouldn’t have had room at all. As it is, all of our KMing came to a shrieking halt just when I was almost done with the craft studio. We managed to do our bedroom, the bathroom, the office, the kitchen, and most of the living room. The unfinished craft piles were moved from the studio into the office. The first few days after Aubrey moved in were rough because crap was piled everywhere and boxes were stacked in the living room. I ended up making her put the living room boxes in her car until she gets a storage unit.While that still doesn’t solve the boxes in the kitchen and the ridiculous amount of clothes in her room, at least my living room is clean.

In case you’re wondering, our bedroom is still clean and uncluttered!  All of our drawers are full of perfectly folded clothes stood on end. My nightstand is occasionally in need of purging and our pillows tend to stay piled on a chair since I go back to bed too often to warrant bothering to make it in the mornings, but the floor and our dresser tops are all clear. During the days of disaster in the living room, it was my safe haven so I didn’t go crazy.

Considering that tomorrow is my birthday, I’m glad I got a sort of end-of-year clearance post done. Hopefully age 47 will see me not gain 300 lbs as I eat all the carbs that I swore off last fall. I also hope to finally (after five years!) get rid of the shit brown paint in my kitchen. Yup, those are my two main goals for this year and trust me, they’re huge. After all of the leaps and bounds of progress during age 46, I think 47 is going to seriously kick ass. Happy birthday to me!

Around My Neck (and on the wall)

20160118_184708 (2)

I have been following the KonMari method to declutter my house and the main tenet is to only keep the things that bring you joy. I have a rather large collection of dragonfly necklaces that my daughter and husband have bought me over the years and they definitely bring me joy! I wanted a way to display them on the wall so I could see them all, but after shopping for a week, I couldn’t find exactly what I was looking for. As I was drifting off to sleep last night, I had a brilliant idea to frame them but have them still be accessible.

It was easy, too. I used a cheap wooden frame from IKEA, a piece of cardboard cut from an Amazon box, and a scrap of scrapbooking paper that matches my bedding. I started by removing the glass then used it to trace out the size on the cardboard and paper.

20160118_191539[1]

Some double tape glued the paper to the cardboard. I measured across the top and marked in 1/6 of the way from each edge, then cut down half an inch at each mark. I put it inside the frame, cardboard side up, and traced across the top on the inside.

20160118_192318[1]

Cut across the line between the marks and flip it over.

20160118_192725 (2)

Put the chain into the slits created from the downward cuts and adjust it so the pendant is centered.

20160118_192837 (2)

Pop it into the frame without the glass and done!

20160118_193022 (2)

I was so excited to try this out, I did it before I even repainted the frames so just ignore the chippy bits. Now I have beautiful and meaningful art for my bedroom walls and I get to see my favorite necklaces and enjoy them all, even when I’m not wearing them!

20160118_184708 (2)

 

Except What I Remember And Believe

One of my favorite David Wilcox songs is about losing everything and realizing that the important things are always carried with you. Between two divorces and moving like a gypsy, I know all about starting from what fits in your car. But being married for 13 years and settled for 15 means that I’ve accumulated a ton of crap. I mean literally a ton, as in at least 2000 lbs of crap.

Every year, just like everyone else, I make resolutions to clean up my clutter, clear out the sheds, and be a better version of me. Normally I’m a complete failure by the time February comes around, but considering I’ve been on this self-improvement journey since September with huge leaps and bounds of progress made, I’m feeling pretty damned good about this year’s prospects.

Like thousands of other people, I became fascinated by the Marie Kondo book, The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. I’ve said for a while now that I kinda wish my house would catch fire, taking everything I hate with it. I would grab my computer, camera, phone, and three bins of luxury knitting yarn. Everything else could go and I wouldn’t be devastated, as our Christmas ornaments are the only other thing I would miss and they’re stored in the shed. A book dedicated to getting rid of everything in my house that doesn’t “spark joy” speaks directly to my heart.

For the last few months, I’ve purged what I thought was a lot. I mean I can move my hangers in my closet now, so that’s huge progress. But I still hung onto a ridiculous amount of shamefully shabby underwear, pajamas that are literally falling off me, and an entire underbed storage bin of painting clothes. Keep in mind the last time I painted was September, 2014. I’m almost positive I really only need one set of painting clothes, maybe two in case of big jobs like the craft room.

Every room in the house, both big sheds, and the laundry room have gone through a first level purge, or what Aubrey used to call the painless purge; that’s the stuff that you know you don’t want, or stuff that’s obvious garbage. Now we’re starting the second level purge, which is a little bit harder. This is the stuff that makes you say, “But I might need that if/when…” or “My best friend from 3rd grade gave me that and I haven’t spoken to her in 30 years but she was my BEST friend…” or the worst of all, “That cost me a fortune and I haven’t even used it yet!”

On top of reading Kondo’s book, I’ve joined a handful of facebook groups that are dedicated to the Konmari Method for additional inspiration. Seeing pictures of people’s homes and closets that have gone from looking like mine to something worthy of a catalog photo shoot gives me hope.

Ron’s being incredibly supportive, as he said he’s noticed that I’ve stopped buying crap I don’t need (which is way more important to the process than purging!!!) and picking up roadside bits for projects that I’ll never complete. Having his support means a lot to me, as I’m not physically able to do this on my own. While Matt is here, I’ve made a great start, but once he’s gone, there will still be more to do. Of course, the hope is that once it is all done, I will physically be able to keep up with the house as there will be nothing to dust or clean other than the basics.

In an alignment of the universe, our bulky trash pickup is this Monday. That gave me great motivation to clear out the sheds, get rid of broken furniture, and ditch various other large trash things that I’ve been keeping for insane reasons. Matt has helped without question mainly because I’m paying him, so it’s working out well for both of us.

While our trash pile grows, all my non-consumerism is helping our debt to go down. I was able to do all our Christmas shopping with a net lowering of our credit card balance, and that’s with some rather generously large gifts, like a new phone for Aubrey and a plane ticket for Matt.

For so long, I’ve worked to “organize and store” but Kondo’s approach is to get rid of it. I went to Target on Friday to get a particular ornament storage box (which I did end up buying from Amazon), and planned to get another half dozen large plastic bins in order to store our Christmas stuff. I didn’t get the bins because I realized I honestly had no idea what was going to be left. I came home and Matt and I tackled the Christmas stuff. I ended up with a box of lights and three half-empty bins that I will consolidate into two before they go back into the shed. Once the tree is down, we’ll have that, the ornament box, and a bin of wrapping paper to add to the lights and other bins. Anything I didn’t use this year either got pitched or went into the garage sale pile. I ended up with a large pile of empty bins, so I was glad I didn’t buy any new ones!

As for the garage sale, I’ve promised everyone that if it doesn’t happen by the end of January, I’ll just donate everything. I also promised to donate anything that doesn’t sell. Nothing is to come back into the house or sheds once it goes out for the sale.

I’m feeling confident, excited, and yes, joyful. Every box that goes out means more room to breathe and I feel lighter. However, this is an exercise in patience, as it is meant to take about six months for the average house. I have a tendency to want it all done RIGHT NOW!!!!! and thinking about everything all at once can be overwhelming. So I’m sticking to the 26 week plan.

Most importantly, I promise myself that it is okay if I don’t do it perfectly, as long as I just DO it.

 

Nobody’s Fault But Mine

I feel like the wickedest witchiest bitch, but it’s all been an excellent learning experience on my part, and hopefully won’t be repeated. More than anything, I owe my daughter a huge apology; for being mean to her before Christmas, for not being supportive of her life choices, for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, for not having enough faith in her awesomeness, and for being a horrible mother, even if it was with the best of intentions.

Christmas was amazing. Aubrey went above and beyond in her search for the perfect presents. She got Ron a bartender’s set and a book of drinks recipes; I got a gorgeous dragonfly scarf and hand twisted wire dragonfly shawl pin; Matt got a set of musician statues made of wire and hardware bits; Ron and I each got mugs and a pound of Christmas Blend coffee from Starbucks. For Ron, she found a LOTR mug on Etsy. For me, she picked a kitten on its back, playing with a ball of yarn. In proof of our Vulcan mind meld, she purchased the mug shortly before I purchased my phone case with a kitten on its back, playing with a ball of yarn and neither of us had any idea of the other.

Meanwhile, I received a link to an article by Peg Streep, the author of Mean Mothers; Overcoming The Legacy of Hurt. I’ve always said that my Higher Power speaks to me through the internet, and sure enough, They didn’t let me down. While scrolling through facebook, this article popped up just when I needed it most. It was generally about daughters divorcing their mothers but it was meant to be supportive considering how hurtful Christmas can be, and oh is it hurtful. No matter how much progress one makes, Christmas and Mother’s Day will always cause pain, particularly when viewing photos of other happy mother/daughter families. For me, unpacking ornaments and seeing the rejected apple ornament from when I was seven years old picks at the not so healed scab. This year, I asked Aubrey to please paint over it. When the tree comes down, she will dig out paints and fix it into something that doesn’t hurt.

While searching for Mean Mothers on Amazon, I decided to check Scribd on the off chance they have it, which they do. Scribd also suggested Will I Ever Be Good Enough?; Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers by Karyl McBride. I decided to read that one first, as I feel that Mean Mothers will be a more traumatic read for me.

To add to the Christmas frustration, my mother has taken to adding little cheerleader comments on my facebook posts. I ignore them, but they seriously piss me off, as I know they are just for show and an attempt to make my friends think she is the mother that I wish I had, but that I know doesn’t exist. My childhood friends have all sent me texts or messages saying, “WTF?” as they all know that’s not the real her. When one person did ask if perhaps she’s attempting to change, I pointed out that not once has she picked up the phone to ask, “How are you feeling/what’s going on/how can I help/what do you need from me?” I gave up on calling her, as the only thing she ever talks about is how my uncle is dying (he’s been dying for 12 years now, and is still well enough to drive a car). She never tells me about my nieces and nephew, I don’t get invited to parties, and I certainly wasn’t informed when she was investigated by child protective services and had to leave the home for 30 days (that was last year). So no, I don’t give her credit for attempting to change.

Sadly, while reading Will I Ever Be Good Enough, I discovered not only myself in the client interviews, but also in the description of narcissistic mothers. In my effort to avoid being the avoidant mother, I went too far the other way and became the engulfing mother. There in black and white was evidence of all the things I never wanted to do wrong but did. I take some comfort in knowing it’s because I never had a good mothering role model, and while that’s great up to now, at age 46 I have to take responsibility for my own actions.

My other comfort is that most of my engulfing was done out of love; when Aubrey decided she wanted to dance, I made sure she went to the best school, driving back and forth to Austin every weekend. When she wanted to ride horses, we paid a fortune so she could ride a couple of times a week and I froze my ass off through the winters, huddling over a barrel fire waiting for her lessons to finish. I “protected” her through bad boyfriends, shitty friends, and various other life mistakes because I love her and want her to be safe and feel loved. And I did it all wrong.

443949

As I read through Karyl McBride’s descriptions and examples, I recognized several of my own behaviors. Worst of all was that I’ve always seen Aubrey as an extension of myself. Don’t get me wrong! I also see her as her own person, but I’ve felt like her behaviors reflected on me, showing me as a good parent when she did something right or a bad parent when she did something I didn’t agree with. Although I’ve tried hard to let her be her own person, I’ve been known to be manipulative and punishing when I didn’t get my way; when she didn’t DO what I WANTED her to DO. All moms joke that our children would be much happier if they would just shut up and do everything that we tell them to. What a horrible, unfunny joke that is. Actually, our children would be happy if we would just shut up and let them do what they want to do (adult children, that is).

The one thing I’ve done right, but still managed to bung up because I’ve never expressed it well enough, is that I love her for who she is, not for what she does. Aubrey is amazing, brilliant, talented in a multitude of ways, has a flair for picking up bits of other languages, has a way with even the scariest of animals, is fearless, loving, and a good person. THOSE are the important things. Who she dates, where she works, what career she chooses, none of that reflects on me. Although she works as a hostess when she is smart enough to be a doctor, she does it with an extreme work ethic; she never calls in unless she is deathly ill, she’s the best aerial acrobat that her company has ever had, she’s professional and hard working, and has been employee of the quarter more times than anyone else in the four years she’s worked there. THOSE are the things that reflect on me. It’s not what she does, it’s how she does it that make me a good or bad parent.

My worst offense, however, is telling her whom she could or couldn’t be friends with and whom she should or shouldn’t date. I’ve not been supportive in her choices, which I should have been no matter how much they make me cringe. I’m sure even non-narcissistic mothers believe that no one is ever good enough for their daughter (or son), and I certainly believe that. But again, I’ve been focused too much on how things look and not how things are. And while I stand firmly on my decision that her current relationship is extremely unhealthy, it’s not my job to judge, punish, or manipulate. It is my job to be here. PERIOD.

There have been times when I’ve not been able to get across my concerns and instead my words have come out as judgmental. When we learned she was bi-sexual, I truly honestly did not care about her sexual preference. I cared that she had lied to us and her girlfriend had been spending the night. Unfortunately, those two revelations were quite tied together, so it was impossible for Ron and I to explain that we weren’t angry about her being bi, we were angry that the other girl was older and should have known better, but instead manipulated us and her (they were 12 and 14 at the time).

With this latest relationship, neither Ron nor I have been able to make her see that we don’t care that he’s a waiter, that he’s 38, that he lives with his mother, that he had a rough childhood; we care that he’s a 38 year old waiter that lives with his mother and is still using the excuse that he had a rough childhood. If he were 22, none of the rest of the things would matter because the hope would be that he would outgrow those things. If he were 38 and successful, secure, and truly loved her, we would be thrilled. I’m also pretty stuck on the fact that he’s a friggin’ idiot and I’m not sure Aubrey’s smart genes could compensate enough for his dumb genes. I also get a strong abuse potential vibe, which I’m pretty damn sensitive to. All that said, she has to figure these things out on her own.

Preview

So the theme for 2016 is; IT IS NOT ALL ABOUT ME! I’ve asked my therapist to help me work on being a better mother, to learn how to balance between avoidant and engulfing, to be supportive but not intrusive, to stop being manipulative, to better express my unconditional love without it coming across as conditional. I have faith that I’ll succeed. My immediate family are the most important people in my life and my children are both well worth my making some positive changes. And that, more than anything else, sets me apart from my mother.

You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch

One of these days, I will learn. I will stop being disappointed because I will stop having expectations. I will stop hoping for things to go as planned, for the “perfect” holiday afternoon. I will finally get it that life sucks and people suck and things won’t ever go as I hope and imagine they will.

Today was supposed to be a good day. I woke up without a headache, early and with a decent amount of energy. I was excited because Matt will be here tomorrow and Aubrey was supposed to get here around 12:30 to go shopping with Ron and then do holiday baking with me. Ron and I agreed that since we only see her once a week, we actually miss her now and look forward to her coming over.

It started out with great promise, too. Ron and I wrapped presents over coffee, and laughed about our childhood holiday traditions vs what we do at our house. His family never did huge stacks of gifts with stocking stuffers and tree presents. I don’t ever remember stockings when I was a kid, either. Stockings are a big deal at our house, though. Stuffers are wrapped and it’s how Santa lets everyone know which presents are theirs…the gifts under and on the tree are wrapped in the same paper as those in the stocking.

I’ve felt pretty grinchy this year, starting with the Starbucks cup brouhaha. Christmas has quickly become my second least favorite holiday, topped only by Mother’s Day. I’ve avoided carols like the plague, haven’t baked a single cookie, and have only been to one holiday party which, to be accurate, was the least holiday of parties I’ve ever attended. That’s not a bad thing.

tumblr_myckldVOnf1rawb5do1_500

So the fact that I felt in a holiday mood today was pretty miraculous. It was also extremely short lived. Aubrey didn’t show up at 12:30. She texted to say she was awake and going to shower. That was fine, since I was still working on the kitchen. But then it got to be 1:30. Then 2:30. And finally 3:30. I messaged her not to bother and that we’d see her on Friday for Christmas. Five minutes later, she waltzed in, sat down, and started petting the dog. No apology, no offers of help, nothing.

Needless to say, I was furious. I don’t care if she comes over or not, as long as she does what she says. I told her that I could give her her gifts now so she could open them whenever on Friday, but she said she’ll be here. I warned her that WE are opening presents on Christmas morning. We will not wait until 3:30 or whatever ridiculous hour she decides she feels like showing up.

I suggested she go home, since we didn’t need her help after all. Instead, she sat here until Ron asked her if she wanted to go shopping. She agreed, then waited for him to go outside, turned to me, and said, “What else do you want besides the pajamas?” as though I were giving her a grocery list. At that point, I was beyond done. I told her it didn’t matter (because it doesn’t). If my family doesn’t understand by now that it’s not about a list of THINGS that I expect wrapped and under the tree, they are never going to get it. If I want a thing, I can go buy a thing. It’s not about the things. It is truly the thought that counts. And if I have to do the thinking too? Why bother?

She finally left, without shopping with Ron of course. Now I’m depressed and angry and fed up and hate Christmas as much as ever. I know it’s my fault for having expectations surrounding the day (and today, as well), and I know it goes back to the unfillable void. No matter what sort of fantastic surprise my family dreamed up for me, it would never make up for all the crappy Christmases that have gone before. Even if they pulled off a Christmas miracle, it wouldn’t make up for my lack of a relationship with my mother. But it’s one thing to know something intellectually and something else entirely to know it emotionally and be able to let it go.

So I’m letting it go. My daughter won’t be a human being by Friday, so I can mark that off my list. Ron isn’t going to be suddenly inspired with ideas for all the frivolous things I don’t get myself all year long. I gave up on Matt a long time ago; besides, I’m thrilled that he is going to be HERE, which is gift enough for me.

Christmas is just a day and I really just don’t care.