Every year the promise of preparation beckons, that if I get the things I’m responsible for done early enough, the stress and anxiety of Christmas Eve and Christmas and the Sunday after Christmas will be diminished, and every year that promise turns out to be an illusion. Everything I’m responsible for over the next three days is accounted for here on the morning of Christmas Eve, and yet, here I am, on the morning of Christmas Eve, certain I’m forgetting something.
Last year was even worse. With everything prerecorded and nothing happening in person, I still spent Christmas Eve an anxious mess.
It’s part of the wonder of it, I suppose.