From when I got married at the young age of 19, my mother would always compliment me on the rare occasion when I'd bake something. "My, aren't you a Betty Crocker!" she would exclaim. The last few weeks, as I've been making my own bar lotion, bath fizzies and gift wrap, I've felt like Betty's daughter Martha Stewart. (And up until about 30 minutes ago, I was feeling pretty good about that.) This, my friends, is not normal.
Back to this morning: standing outside this morning and admiring my work, I had a startling realization. I wasn't gently snipping the boughs, humming a Christmas carol, and watching the snow fall gently from the sky. I wasn't thinking about the hot cocoa or the apple cider I had simmering in the house.
I was asking the opinion of Cocoa (my dog) as she sat there and inspected my work. I was wrapping the boughs with green twine I purchased from the hardware store, and I was calculating how goofy it would look if my lights didn't go all the way to the end. I was thinking (and still am) about using Duck tape to hold the extension cord down so no one will trip.
Friends! I realized this morning that I am and never will be Martha Stewart! I am and forever will be ... Red Green!
Sigh.
Please pray for my family.
