Something about being with my mother for longer than an hour turns off my heart. For 24-48 hours after seeing her I feel nothing for nobody. Really. Nothing. I am like Spock. It is as if being with her gives me a heartectomy. I can’t even feel love for He-weasel. It is always scary when it happens. Happily, my heart always comes back—at least so far it has.” La Belette Rouge

I read this on another blog, and it has stuck with me ever since. This morning I was grouchy, seriously grouchy. The sort of grouchy that can make a small girls’ beautiful, big, brown eyes fill up with tears and hurt. Inside of me is a pressure that I am creating myself. It is the ‘I want a Doris Day perfect Christmas’ syndrome. When, in fact, it is looking more like a ‘Marge Simpson Christmas’.

Mr Dear Husband has done a bunk. He is off running the world and won’t be back for two weeks… just four days before half of Australia arrives on my doorstep. You can imagine how that conversation went…

“Honey, I have to go to Madagascar (made that bit up to protect the innocent) again tomorrow.” He laid this on me about 9:30pm the eve before.

Aha…” My nanna always told me, if you can’t say anything nice, say nothing at all… But inside my head, I was having a serious wig-out. Visions of stuffing mince pies up his nose danced in my head.

Christmas without resentment. That would have to be the goal for the day. Resist the urge to curl up on the sofa and do nothing. To not eat all the chocolate that has been safely hidden away for St. Nikolaus in three days. I’m thinking I might need one of those poodle skirts that Doris always wore, and some Gwen Stefani Red Lipstick… perhaps that would help my heart to ‘come back to me’.

More important than that, I need someone to reassure me that I have not ordered a turkey that will be too big to fit in the oven!! Might have gone a little overboard, we are 9 adults and 2 children and I have a 7.5kg (or 16 pound) beast being delivered. Too much? What have I done! It’s freaking me out!



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