Every year I pull up my Christmas card list from the deep recesses of my computer. Every year I am forced to face the same question. At what point can I take someone off the list? There’s a few usual suspects I consider removing every year, yet keep them on out of some sort of strange feeling of guilt or desire to show off my kids’ smiling mugs.
As I gaze around my family room, I wish I was a domestic diva. I am no where near a domestic diva, in fact I think I am more of a domestic novice even though I’ve been married for nine years and have had kids for more than four and a half years.
I yearn to be an organized mom who has a place for everything–no papers stacked in corners and on counters, no toys strewn about, and no mail from last week still close to the front door. I wish I was one of those moms who have the urge to vacuum when a crumb hits the floor. I wish I didn’t hate folding the laundry.