Last year was messy. Life. Work. The house. Even my dress sweatpants looked bad.
September was hectic. October was Hallowe’en. November was deadlines.
December was one long, cruel mistress. On Christmas morning, I joined my friends—the balls of crumpled wrapping paper on the floor—and rolled right under the tree.
The next blessed day was December 26th.
Boxing Day is when this parent’s real holiday begins. I loafed around the house for three glorious hours. I flopped into bed. I wrote a song about blankets.
I then surprised myself, my family, and our new pet Roomba: I started to clean. And not in a quiet and delightful Marie Kondo way. I wasn’t sparking joy. I wasn’t making things shiny or tidy in the house. I was out in my studio heaving piles of glued and glittery paper into garbage bags; I was squirrelling away failed but promising projects; I was watching more true crime programming (stop killing each other, people!); and I was hopping around like nobody was watching (pretty sure the neighbour was actually watching).
In other words, I was getting ready for a new, perfectly messy year.Read More