It happens every year.  No, not Christmas.  I’m referring to the annual promise to myself.  “Next year I’m going to start earlier.  Next year I’m not going to wait ‘til the last minute.  Next year I’m not going to get caught in the hysteria, next year, next year, next year….”

Here we are, two days before Christmas and not only am I not done with shopping (there will be a few gifts arriving after the “day”, sorry guys) but I have yet to figure out what I‘m making for Christmas dinner not to mention brave the lines at the local market to shop for said ingredients.

Somewhere about the middle of the month I realize it’s hopeless.  Right around Thanksgiving I delude myself into thinking that I have plenty of time.  It’s only Thanksgiving, for goodness sakes.  Turkey, pumpkins, Indian corn.  The world is awash with orange.  Christmas is a month away.  There’s plenty of time.  Oh yeah?

About the middle of the month I begin to notice the signs.  The thought of Christmas starts to make me feel just a bit anxious.  I wake in the middle of the night, sometime around 3 a.m. and I obsess about when I’m going to do all the things I have to do.  I feel a tightening in my chest.  My breathing begins to quicken.  What will I buy the kids?  When am I going to fit in taking the Christmas picture or write the Christmas letter that goes in the Christmas cards.  And more importantly, when am I going to bake the hundreds of Christmas cookies that have to be baked before school gets out (the curse of being married to a high school administrator).

I tell myself not to panic.  I practice deep breathing exercises.  I do yoga.  I pray a prayer that I learned from reading Annie Lamott.  “Help.”

None of this seems to help much.

And so I resort to the tried and true wisdom of Bill W. and use the motto of Alcoholics Anonymous, “One day at a time.”  Somehow, that makes it more manageable.  Somehow, that makes all things seem possible.  And sometimes, especially at 3 o’clock in the morning, I break it down even further.  Sometimes it’s  “one hour at a time”.  Sometimes it’s “one minute at a time.”  And somehow it works.

So today, two days before Christmas, I’m going shopping.  I have to get a gift for the husband, some things for the kids, a present for a friend or two.  That’s what’s on the agenda today.

And in the words of Scarlet O’Hara, “Tomorrow is another day.”