I miss my mom.
It’s three days before Christmas, and I miss my mom. Up until this point, I’ve been holding things together pretty well. Especially considering it’s been a crazy time for everyone, what with only three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I’ve stayed on top of the gift-buying and the card-printing and the party-going with only a few minor glitches (let’s just say that I’m fortunate to have friends who still like me despite my sudden lack of punctuality and that I’m pretty sure the children can get therapy someday for all the lambasting). But yesterday, I remembered that my mom was going to get Elfie an American Girl Doll this year. And that while I’ve shopped for my dad’s gifts for the kids, they really aren’t appropriately extravagant, so they basically say, “Oh, yes, we know your Nan died this year — sorry, now Christmas will suck, too.” And then today it dawned on me that there won’t be anyone figuring out Christmas breakfast. Or anyone to even remind me in the midst of all this chaos that I need to actually make something for breakfast. Because until I saw strawberries in Costco today, breakfast wasn’t even on the list. Yes, I went to Costco today. Because deep down inside, I hate myself.
Actually, the true sign of self-loathing came today when I actually set foot inside Walmart. Now, I have a ton of friends who shop at Walmart, and they’re all compassionate, fair-minded, planet-loving, defenders of humankind. They’re also busy mothers who live where Walmart is their most convenient store and the cheapest purveyor of one-stop sock, drug, and food shopping. For me, Walmart has just become the evil mascot of corporate greed, and I’ve built it up in my mind enough that I can’t stomach the place. But here was my dilemma today. . .
I’d officially blown the American Girl purchase. Then Elfie informed me, while playing at a friend’s house, that she’s always wanted a wooden dollhouse for her Barbie-sized dolls. Fabulous. Huge dollhouse. That’s over the top. Where can I get one? Nowhere! I check every store I can think of, and no one has the right one. So tonight, I ended up where the elderly are underpaid to greet people.
Did I get my happy ending? No. Not even close. So I became what I can only imagine was one of possibly 10(?) people who’ve ever walked into and out of a Walmart without buying anything. There was a brief moment when I was afraid security was going to tackle me and search me for shoplifted goods.
So now Elfie gets a picture of her dollhouse, wrapped in a box. Like a really bad I.O.U. Because kids love that sort of thing — there’s nothing quite like it on Christmas morning. And I get one more reminder that my mom is officially gone.
It’s like a big pile of laundry that I keep tossing one more thing onto: the cookies we always make don’t taste the same; there’ll be no egg casserole for Christmas breakfast; and no one will be as excited about each of the kids’ new toys. Because everything we do has a little stain on it. But what makes me even crazier is that for the kids, the little stain is already fading, and I find myself reminding them about things their Nan said and did — and then feeling oddly morbid about it. So even if I could fix it all by just tossing the laundry in the washing machine, the better part of me doesn’t want to ever, ever wash any of it away.
Tammy Soong is a writer, wife, and mom from Reno, Nevada. She takes an absurd amount of pain medication, but not enough to have actually named her children "Newt" and "Elfie." She spends most days stressing out over clutter, writing stuff for this place, and working on podcasts with her gal pals, the Blogging Betties.