I didn't coin that phrase. It's another one of those I wish I had been clever enough of think of first. Anyway, it's fitting now, in this (almost) zero hour. Halls are decked, gay apparel is donned (whatever?) and the stockings are hung by the chimney with care. Outside the window, there's a freshly laid blanket of snow courtesy of the seasons premiere blizzard.
For all intense and purposes it's Christmas 101. And by the look of things I pulled an A plus.
Yet...my low elf esteem nudges with those same old nagging doubts. Did I do enough? Will everyone get what they really wanted? What is it about this particular holiday that dredges up my latent ego issues and images of a perfect Christmas past, when I wasn't the director of the show, but merely a joyful participant?
It's all up to me these days. In as much as I'm fairly certain I have risen to the occasion, I look to my kids for validation; suddenly insecure that I am capable of creating a December 25th that my own offspring will attempt to replicate when its their turn at the helm.
All this needless worrying when I'm well aware that in the scheme of things, this is merely a blip on the radar screen. Yet, when you're the main memory maker - you're like Avis. You try harder.
A dose of elf-confidence is in order. That, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.
A mothers work is just never done.