Give Me A Minute. I'll Remember.

I think I'm done Christmas shopping, which would be a really good thing considering I've been at it since July.

Yes, you read that right. I'm one of THOSE women.

But don't hate me because while it might look like I'm all organized with Martha Stewart blood running through my veins, it's an illusion.

I'm pretty sure that when things got stressful this summer, my penchant for retail therapy increased but I managed to justify it by telling myself that I was just being a good planner. As I stuffed presents into the saddlebags of my Harley, sun shining and sweat dripping down my back, I rationalized that I was taking every precaution necessary to avoid being sucked into the Black Friday feeding frenzy.

Whatever.

Buying stuff makes me feel as good as eating stuff.

Truth.

The end result of six months of picking up something here or there has left me with presents stashed around the house and an incomplete accounting in my head. Am I done? I think so but until I can lock the children outside for a few hours and methodically go through each one of my usual hiding spots, I can't be completely sure.

The trouble with purchasing Christmas goodies in July is:

a) you don't remember what you've bought or
b) you don't remember where you've hidden what you've bought or
c) what you bought is no longer appropriate six months later.

I have this uncomfortable feeling that I've forgotten something. It happens to me all of the time. Like when I go grocery shopping without a list (to prove to my husband that it can be done) and then come home, ready to bake and realize that I've left the flour behind. Or sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, surveying the bounty-laden table and trying to shake off THE FEELING only to open the oven a few days later and find the rolls, hard as ice balls, forgotten inside.

So, I've got that weirdness churning around in my belly this morning and I know that there is something that has escaped me but I can't for the life of me remember what it is. No matter. I'm going to take comfort in the fact that I can still set our bank account on fire for the next four days and at the very least, Wal-Mart will be open on Christmas.

It might be a nice way for the men in our family to bond.

Grumbling.

In the car.

On the way to Wal-Mart.

With an emergency grocery list in hand.