ADDICT

I am an addict living with a dysfunctional family.

Some people drink. Smoke. Buy shoes. 

I buy holiday decorations.

It's an illness, I am well aware. But I cannot help myself. 

My addiction has affected my kids. 

When asked- a few years back-why we relocated from New Jersey to Buffalo, Daughter told her teacher (and everyone else who asked,)  "Our house was too small to hold all of Mom's Christmas decorations. So we had to move to a bigger house."   

You read that correctly. My child actually thought we moved to Buffalo for our Christmas decorations.

My addiction has affected my marriage. Husband, who returns to the coffee pot eight times every morning without noticing his cereal bowl-half full of leftover milk and three bloated cheerios-on the table, has embedded a virtual Just-Purchased Holiday Decoration Tracking System in his brain. "Do we really need a new fiber-optic glowing pumpkin head?" he asks, the very instant I finally find shelf space to display my latest treasure. Or a new snow globe? Cupid?  Bunny? Uncle Sam?

Youngest child has been forced into the role of defender. "Mom bought that three (six, two, four) years ago, Dad. 80% off, at a sale after the holiday. I was with her." I love that kid.

In the old days, my addiction was under control. I employed the Holiday Decorating System to deal with it:  1. Take out decorations for approaching holiday. 2. Decorate. 3. Remove after holiday and replace in attic/basement/garage. 4. Repeat for approaching holiday. 

The HDS worked for eighteen years. But now I am getting sloppy: ignoring older decorations, leaving chicks, monsters and clovers on the ping pong table for months before returning them to their shelves, buying decorations and giving them to friends instead of bringing them home, procrastinating before every holiday so I don't have to spend all that time taking out and putting back holiday decorations. 

I have begged for help. "C'mon, everybody!  If we work together to decorate the house, it will only take a couple of hours!" 

Husband (Ipad addict) answers, "I am not going to be your enabler. You bought 'em, you display 'em, and you put 'em back." 

Children (sports addicts) grab their sneakers, blow me a kiss, and run.

This past weekend I accepted that I am doomed. With Thanksgiving looming, Halloween decorations still littered our house. Certain that I had time to employ the the HDS on Friday afternoon, I pulled Halloween off our shelves, tables and counters. I left it on the kitchen table, fully intending to make the swap for turkeys and pilgrims before bedtime. Life happened, and Saturday morning I entered the kitchen to the chaos you see in the photograph above (note- that is only one third of the table.) 

"I need HELP!" I shrieked. It was a long, low moan mixed with agony, tears, frustration and regret. 

Husband, walking to the coffee pot with Ipod tucked under his elbow, glanced at the table and then at me. "You're just now figuring that out?" he asked. Then he patted my shoulder and left the room, repeating, "Baby steps, honey.  Baby steps."

I can't wait until Christmas. 

QUING Hereby Decrees:  All things in moderation: except chocolate, twinkly lights, and holiday decorations.