JUST WRITE!
An OCD/ADD xmas
By Tracey Coveart/The Scugog Standard

For such a joyous time of year, the Christmas season is fraught with more than its fair share of stress and anxiety, especially for the obsessive compulsive.
mLet’s break it down in chronological order.
mFirst come the outdoor decorations. When, exactly, should you hang those little plastic ornaments from the lilac tree, drape garland over the porch railing, install the blinking ‘Happy Holidays’ sign on door, apply the snowman window clings and string the LED lights? The jury’s still out on this one. If you decorate while it’s still warm, you’re rushing. If you wait until it’s cold ... it’s cold.
mThen there’s the aesthetic. Should you go for flashy and festive - mutli-coloured me - or elegant and understated - soft white Rob)?
mOnce the outdoor area is seasonably altered (Rob’s finer sensibilities are still bruised), we turn our attention to the inside of the house. This is even more problematic, especially in a small space. Before we moved, I whittled my Christmas collection down from about 20 red and green Rubbermaid tubs to six, but there are still five tubs too many for our cozy little home. So far, we have a six-foot artificial tree with its top bent over so it will fit in our basement family room and half of Stephie’s advent calendar collection on display.
mHaving just brought some semblance of order to the chaos we’ve been living in since moving in July, I’m reluctant to clutter things up. Besides, the older I get the more futile it seems to unpack crate after crate of singing stuffies, poinsettia mugs and nativity scenes, just to pack them all up a few weeks later. It’s not that I’ve lost my enthusiasm. Just my energy.
mThen come the Christmas cards. I used to get dozens in the mail, but I find that after five years without any kind of reciprocation, people give up on you. Not surprisingly, I have a tub of Christmas cards from years of hoarding, but I always run out of time to actually fill them out and post them. I love receiving cards and I display them proudly on ribbons strung across our banister, but they’re a constant reminder of my failure as a communicator and a friend. (If anyone is reading this column who continues to faithfully send me a Christmas card without any hope of a greeting in kind ... thanks and sorry. Happy Holidays!)
mGifts are next. I shop for Christmas presents all year long, so I shouldn’t have to cram. The problem is, by the time December rolls around, I’ve forgotten what I bought and who I bought it for. Rather than check my closet (and, yes, the tubs of gifts I have stored lovingly in the basement) like a sensible person before I hit the shops, I get a case of rampant consumerism and go out and buy for everyone on my list all over again.
mAs if the financial punishment isn’t enough, then I have to wrap all my purchases. And I’m a meticulous wrapper. Every seam has to be even and every corner crisp. There has to be a pleasing image on the front of each package. I use a lot of tape, write witticisms or obscure hints on each tag, and agonize over every bow and ribbon.
mBaking is next on the list. ... and it is an apocalyptic disaster. I’ve never made a dozen cookies I didn’t love ... right down to the crumbs under the cooling racks. Poor Santa doesn’t stand a chance.
mAnd then, before you’re even remotely ready, Dec. 25 arrives. But where do you spend this most holy of days? In your own home? At your parent’s place? At his parent’s place? Driving like a madwoman between the three? Curled up in a fetal position sucking your thumb?
mTo that alien who is at this very moment probing my brain, the festive season must seem like a nightmare from start to finish. But it’s an ADD girl’s dream come true. So many wonderful distractions. So many things to start and not finish. Christmas is my favourite time of year. I love the magic of it - Santa and his reindeer and those industrious little elves working all year long to fill that capacious sled; the history of it - a little baby, asleep in a manger, drawing people from far and wide to his incomparable light; the traditions my family has started - champagne and orange juice for breakfast; stockings for everyone; a fondue dinner. But most of all, I love the laughter; the joy in just being together; the irrepressible goodwill.
mThe lead up is grueling, the big day is exhausting, and coming down off the high is debilitating, but Christmas is utterly divine. What untold riches heaven must hold....