So yesterday, Tara and I coined (at least I think we're the first to come up with it--I should Google it) a new phrase for how women feel at the holidays: holipausal.
I felt holipausal last year: rushed, stessed, not able to slow down and enjoy the season. This year, I'm holding steady, which I attribute to getting the shopping and wrapping finished last week, leaving this week open to lying around and complaining about the rain (more about that later).
The term holipausal came about when Tara was telling me about a meltdown she had over the Christmas tree, which they did not have, could not find, and her husband was talking about waiting until the day before Christmas Eve to get. I'll spare you the gory details, but, as anyone would assume when a woman has a meltdown, I asked Tara if she had PMS. She said, "No, unfortunately, because that would be the best way to explain away everything!"
So if you're not premenstrual, menstrual or postmenstrual, and you're still having a holiday meltdown, you must be holipausal.
Or we're just psycho. Take your pick.
Like I said, everything here is ready for Santa, but two things are causing me angst:
1. The weather. It is raining. RAINING, people. For days. This is why I left Ohio--38 degrees and RAINING. Ironically, Ohio is having a white Christmas, while here, for the first time in decades, it is Christmas week and there is not a lick of snow on the ground at our elevation and none is forecast to be. The resorts have plenty, which is important, but here? Nothing. All of our traditional outdoor Christmas activities have gone awry. No snowshoeing. No sledding. It hasn't even been cold enough to freeze the ice for the town park rink. We could go skiing, of course, but we'd wait in the rain in the parking lot for the shuttle. I do not feel compelled to make "waiting in the rain to ski" one of our new Christmas traditions. For the first few weeks of December, Declan complained and complained that we didn't have snow. "Just wait," I assured him. "Our snow will come." Apparently, I am a huge liar.
2. My Dad called to say that he had shipped the boys' presents and they would likely arrive at the post office late this week. We have no mail delivery in our town, which means everyone has to pick up their mail and packages at the post office. Hence, even at the best of times, the post office is a nightmare. The very thought of having to go to the post office is making me feel faint.
Or maybe I'm just going through holipause.