Express mail

Yesterday, I received a shock. I got a Christmas card.

On December 2.

Seriously?

The card was from a dear high school friend and displayed a lovely picture of her family. Coordinated outfits. Everyone smiling, all at once. In a word: impressive. Also: unsettling. I am just never going to be that woman who sends Christmas cards in November. Never ever EVER.

Am I OK with that? I'm not sure.

The funny part about all of this is that yesterday was also the day I decided not to send Christmas cards at all this year. I figure, it would cost somewhere around $100 (50 cards and stamps) and take a couple of (pleasant, latte-fueled) evenings to write personal notes in each card and address them. In years past, I've used Christmas cards as a way to stay somewhat familiar with out of town family and friends, old bosses and coworkers. I was hashing and rehashing all of this with my husband last night. His take: Does my old boss reeeaaaally care if he gets our Christmas card? (Probably, no.) And wouldn't I rather spend that cash on something else -- like a massage? (Definitely, yes.)

OK, so he didn't actually suggest I blow our Christmas card budget at my fave day spa. But still, the guy has a point. The truth is, the people with whom I most want to stay connected ... I already do. And the folks I only think of at Christmas? Maybe it's time to let them go.

Which brings us to the present. I'm having a full-blown personal crisis over the Christmas card issue. Not because I'm mourning the loss of a beloved holiday tradition and not because I think my old boss will be hurt (or even -- who are we kidding? -- notice) when he doesn't get my Christmas well-wishes. But because I've bought into the idea that homemaking is a competitive sport, and I fall further and further behind every day. Holiday preparations are a race and a contest and my friend -- who I am certain intended only to spread holiday cheer and not to make me doubt my very womanhood -- has qualified for the Boston Marathon of Christmas.

Which, I admit, is small-minded and counter-productive. Not to mention, crazy.

Part of me is ready to chuck the Christmas cards into the same heap where I already offloaded homemade baby food and cleaning my own bathroom. This year, I'd like to focus my Christmas energy on what matters most to me: co-chairing the Adopt a Family drive at my parish, sending holiday goodies to the trio of lonely, elderly ladies in my life, helping the Sunday School kids get ready for their pageant. I'd like to go to more concerts and more church services. And I maybe I should get that Christmas massage.

But part of me is simultaneously thinking ... I could order the cards tonight ... they'd be here next week ... two day turn around, three max ...