Hubby encouraged (or was it admonished?), “It’s only three days, Hon. You can handle it!”Dec. 27th, I stood in the middle of the living room, glassy-eyed and bloated, one hand holding a wet dishrag, the other shielding my eyes from the increasingly obnoxious Christmas lights.“Listen up, family! Does anyone know why I brought this in here? Was there a spill? Is someone bleeding?”Daughter glanced up from her phone, “Gross, mom. Why would you bring a dishrag if someone was bleeding?”“Look, I’m grasping at straws here. I have no idea why I am standing in this room holding a wet dishrag.”Son didn’t even look away from his new video game as he remarked, “You’ve been doing weird stuff like that.”Finally, the holidays are over, hubby is back on the road and my big kids are back on their respective campuses. The blizzard has passed, so the little ones are in school, and I’m in a routine. My house is clean, which pretty much guarantees that no guests will be dropping in unexpectedly. My brain fog is gone, so I’m back to thinking clearly approximately seventy-five percent of the time. And the egg nog and cheeseball weight is officially off, so now I need to tackle those pumpkin pie pounds. I am determined to lose the candy corn weight before the marshmallow Peeps arrive. Hopefully, the Easter Bunny doesn’t carry the same vendetta as Santa Claus.
Ginger Truitt is an author, speaker and mother of five. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org, or find her on Facebook (Ginger Truitt-Author) and Twitter (@GingerTruitt).