I give myself permission to ...

Yesterday, I was feeling a little pressured to GET IT ALL DONE. You know, the "it" that is somehow instilled in us over our formative years. The house must be spotless. The cookies --several dozen of several kinds-- must be baked. The decorations must adorn every flat space. I was contemplating going out into the hordes to find Christmas-themed bath towels.

Stop it.

It's raining and gusty out, I have soft Christmas music playing, my decorated-enough tree is blinking, and I find my eyes drawn to the manger scene. I have the pieces grouped in conversational poses, all going about their business of sheep-herding or the selling of vegetables, tending birds or chasing dogs. Life is like that, isn't it? So busy. Adding on extras seems unrealistic, and I do not know why we feel we have to do all the stuff that we've been hoodwinked into believing we must. 

Who is going to eat all those cookies? We surely do not need them. And who is coming to call? No one I need to impress; mostly it will be just us and maybe a few who love us just as we are.

I did not dig out the Christmas finger towels for the downstairs bathroom.

I did not put out the myriad nutcrackers (Meg breathed a sigh of relief--she really does not like them).

I have not forced a watching playlist of must-see holiday movies.

You get the idea. And I am so much less stressed without the incessant ticking of some sort of holiday bomb in the back of my mind.

Today, I will go pick up the roast for Christmas dinner and a few other necessary groceries. I will make the molasses cookies because I like them. The other cookie varieties can wait, or not be made-- it's not about cookies, after all. It's about the company we keep. It's about the inner preparation, not the baubles and bows and the minor meltdowns that are the logical result of too much must-do tasks. 

Take good care, and be safe. It's a bit blustery out there. 

C