This morning I forgot what day of the week it was. If it weren’t for school and the few activities my kids are in each week, I may never remember the dates as the year rolls on with no clear differentiation between one 24-hour period and the next. At times, life can seem rote and mundane.

My forgetfulness isn't because I don’t have things to do; in fact, if you haven’t heard we’re writing a book. WE’RE. WRITING. A. BOOK. And after having four deadlines this summer and, now, looming edits due to our editor (the second of which just passed, thank you, Jesus), I feel extra pressure to put my head down and whittle away at stories a little at a time. Sometimes I forget the joy, the magnitude of seeing a dream fulfilled with the pressure to actually do the work that it takes to finish the project. (Dreams have a way of being way more work than you ever imagined, who knew?)

Image by Waiting for the Word via Flickr

"'Tis the season."

That is my go-to response this time of year for all manner of things, most of which is spoken wistfully with a tinge of irony.

Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and friends and family and celebrations.

But, 'tis the season for easily becoming overwhelmed with expectations.

'Tis the season for the strain of step that took its sweet time (three consecutive weeks) to roll through my household, picking us off one by one.

'Tis the season for quietly ticking off days in the back of my head as I try to make sure I've covered the bases for gifts, cards, cookies, and all the traditions this season brings for my family.

'Tis the season for totes sitting in my family room, reminding me that I haven't yet decorated the fireplace mantle and probably won't get to it this year.