Breaking Down

Newsletter 2023-01-08

Christmas break is ending dramatically. The most dramatic part is that it won’t actually end. Like a movie where you think you’ve seen the climax, only for the final villain to rise from his supposed death for one final attack, my children are still home. Their first day back to school is Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday, as in the second day of the work week. My theory is that the school wanted to give extra time to all those families who fly to Disney World or Cancun for Christmas, of whom there are exactly none in our suburb. Maybe they’re trying to attract that demographic here. If you’re a rich jet-setter looking for a new school district, don’t fall for it. I went back to work last week, which involved me turning on the laptop for my day job inside my own house where my children also live and spend one hundred percent of their time. Everyone is ready to get back to the regular routines, and by everyone, I mean me. The kids would stay home for the rest of their lives if they could. If that were an actual possibility, I’d go back to working in an office full time. I might sleep there, too.

A few days ago, I had to break up an intense screaming match between two kids who couldn’t figure out how to coexist in the bathroom at the same time to brush their teeth. The line for if I should intervene is whether or not a neighbor will think a murder is happening and call the police. Both kids tried to explain their side of the story. I refused to listen to either one. We have three bathrooms in this house, and there were two children involved. The mathematical solution to the bathroom dispute was staring them in the face, yet they somehow couldn’t work it out. That’s parenting in a nutshell. It’s hours of boredom punctuated by moments of insanity. Thankfully, the ratio of boredom to insanity has been in my favor much of the time. When not fighting, the kids have been obsessed with their crafts. They received diamond dot kits and a bunch of other art supplies for Christmas and have been working on them while watching screens ever since. It’s hard to fight with anyone when you’re already doing two things at once. The issue with the bathroom incident was that they were only doing one thing, brushing their teeth, so they had to start a fight to multitask. Time to install a TV in the bathroom.

Over the weekend, one of the kids’ cousins had a surprise sleepover. My sister-in-law Alice was hanging out at our house and left her kid here afterwards, presumably on purpose. We barely even noticed the addition of an extra child. When you get past three kids, you don’t have children; you have a herd. Adding or subtracting one from the size of the group doesn’t make much of a difference. We barely noticed the bonus kid was here, which could either be a humble brag or an admission of negligence. I used to fear hosting sleepovers, but there was nothing to worry about. I was already living the worst case scenario every day. I’ll have to be on the lookout in case more nieces have been here the whole time. Their unauthorized presence here might not cause me additional work, but I refuse to run a free daycare on principle.

As if an extra kid wasn’t enough excitement, things really kicked into another gear when we got snow. Many people, including my children, have been brainwashed into dreaming of a white Christmas. Those with actual winter experience know nothing could be worse. Holiday travel becomes treacherous and takes three times along. You also might get stuck somewhere, which means you have to overpack more than usual. In January, a day trip to Grandma’s house requires a U-Haul. The best time for snow is never. When you understand that simple fact, you’re officially an adult. The second best time for snow is at the end of Christmas break. In our part of the Midwest, we usually get our first major snowfall right about the time winter vacation ends. The biggest blizzard of my life came when I was in eighth grade the day before we were supposed to return to class. We got over a foot of snow and were off school for most of the next week. It was the best post-Christmas present ever. As an alleged grown-up, I now recognize that must have been the greatest tragedy ever for my parents. They’d already put up with me and my siblings for two straight weeks and thought they were finally in for some relief. Instead, they got several more days of forced togetherness. They also got to shovel all that snow off the driveway. You’d think with all those children, my parents would forever be free of that particular chore, but my siblings and I were committed to being useless. We spent all day moving snow, but only in the yard to build igloos. The second something becomes helpful, it’s no longer fun. That’s a lesson my children understand well. That’s why they own a toy vacuum but would rather die than use a real one.

This time, we didn’t get enough snow to keep anyone home for extra days, but it was sufficient to make the world a little bit worse in every way. The weather was still relatively warm, so the snow was wet and sticky. It was perfect for packing and sledding but not for staying dry. Everything my kids wore outside became extremely waterlogged. It should dry out around June. Now, the roads are clear again, but the world is covered in mud. That’s less than ideal for those of us who own indoor/outdoor pigs, which I guess is just me. Half my yard will soon be tracked into my house on eight very dirty hooves. I should give up on carpet and lay down straw. My house would be easier to clean up if I could use a pitchfork.

Photo by Courtney Chestnut on Unsplash

The arrival of Christmas weather coincided with end of Christmas decorations. Some people break down their tree on December 26th. That’s not even the earliest I’ve heard of. An assistant basketball coach at my high school bragged that he had his tree on the curb for the garbage man by the afternoon of December 25th. As soon as the presents were opened, that unwelcomed conifer was out of there. As a fellow curmudgeon, I admire his dedication to maintaining his routine. We usually leave our decorations up until around January 6th. That’s the Feast of the Epiphany, when the wise men paid their respects to Jesus. I don’t know why that signals the end of the Christmas season. The magi are here, so I guess the party’s over. Imagine being remembered for all time in the Bible as history’s greatest buzzkills. Realistically, the people who adhere to the religious tradition of leaving up decorations until the Feast of the Epiphany also wait to put up their trees until closer to Christmas. I don’t know exactly when because I’ve never stalled for that long. We put up our tree the day after Thanksgiving, which doesn’t line up with religious tradition anywhere. We’re a secular and spiritual smorgasbord in this house. I pick and choose based on whatever gives me an excuse to have my Christmas decorations up the longest. If I ever find a religion that lets me use my Christmas lights year round, I’ll instantly convert. Until then, the end of Christmas break is the perfect time to break down our Christmas setup. The kids are running out of things to do, which is what happens when you always do six things at once. Putting away the decorations will keep them semi-occupied. If they watch YouTube and play a board game at the same time, they just might avoid fighting. Hopefully by the time you read this all of my Christmas decorations will be safely stored for another year. If not, something went horribly wrong. I could see myself getting another hernia carrying the tree to the basement. We’re nearly a full week into the new year and I haven’t had a surprise surgery yet. I’m way overdue.

As for the long list of things I wanted to get done over the kids’ Christmas break, I only accomplished a fraction. I thought I’d have all the time in the world after I finished the edits on my next book, but my desire to procrastinate at all things is as deep and unchanging as ever. In a way, it’s my greatest skill. I multitask by putting off everything at once. Also, the kids were home the whole time, which is my perpetual excuse for everything. It’s easy to explain why you didn’t get anything done when you have to repeatedly negotiate truces in the toothpaste wars. I can’t believe I still haven’t landed that sponsorship from Colgate. There were a few tasks I accidentally crossed off my list. I refilled the water softener, deep cleaned the dining room carpet, and fixed the dishwasher yet again. I messed with it for an hour, hired an electrician, and then hired that electrician again two days later. His final words to me were that this time it’s either fixed for good or I need to buy a new one. I know exactly how that’s going to end. I also installed water sensors under all the sinks in the house. That should give us an early warning if, for instance, a dishwasher exploded. I don’t know why I thought of that particular example. The water sensors took me fifteen minutes to set up, yet I’ve been putting off that task for two years. I regret nothing. I like to live in a constant state of anxiety over simple errands that continuously gather like a dark storm on the horizon. That’s so much better than knocking them out.

The most dramatic thing of all that happened at the end of Christmas break was the launch of the promo campaign for my next book, The Gods of Spenser Island. It kicked off in the most nefarious way possible. Instead of promoting the new book, my publisher wants me to push the first one. That’s the thing with sequels. You probably won’t read number two unless you also read number one. The exception to the sequel rule is Terminator 2, which is an amazing standalone movie and gives all the ones before and after it in the series no reason to exist. If you want to buy Terminator 2 instead of reading any of my books, I won’t be offended. If you’re in more of a literary mood, this week only, the digital version of The Chosen Twelve is just ninety-nine cents. That’s roughly a penny for every thousand words. Or, to put it another way, it’s less than a dollar for a year of my life. The stats get even sadder when you consider that my cut is roughly a quarter of that. That sound you heard was the collective sigh of every aspiring author on this email list giving up on their dreams. Fear not. I’m not quitting, and neither should you. I write because I love it, and also because it lets me procrastinate on an infinite number of household tasks. If you eventually want to see the thing that took up all my free time for the last several months, start with book one, now at its lowest price ever. Seriously, the only way it could be cheaper is if they gave it away. Let’s hope things don’t get that desperate.

Get started here: The Chosen Twelve.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James