Someone Call a Plumber!

My days are running by me like the ever-present leak in a faucet that cannot be repaired. Actually, I have one of those in my bathroom. It could be repaired IF we had the time, the wherewithal and the motivation. We will leave money out of this conversation.

Christmas is next week. US Nationals is in three weeks. Vancouver is in just under two months. What started as a slow drip in time has accelerated into a veritable Niagara Falls of hours;minutes; seconds. There is so much to get done. There is precious little time. Days and nights become one and "shut eye" seems only to be a mere blink.

I tell you this because many of you have asked. In many ways, it is our own personal "Holiday Hell," one that seems singular, but one that we know we share with other anxious parents in sports that have yet to be determined through qualification events or at a national championship. 

We knew it would be different. We really didn't know how different.

All of the family is in the country - a first in months, it seems. The best director on the planet could not adequately script the nuances of scheduling it is taking to try and get everyone home at sometime between now and the time we leave for Spokane. Having us all together at one time? Not going to happen.

For years, when confronted with the challenges of multiple children and blended families, I have said, "It is what it is." Now, I would love for someone to tell me what "Is" actually is! After endless text messages, phone calls that will make us forget the concept of rollover minutes, and multiple hours spent with multiple internet tabs open searching flight options, we sit a mere 120 hours away from the pitter patter of reindeer hooves on the rooftop without knowing who is coming when, on what day, at what time and with what additional extended family member or significant other. If everyone shows up at once, we do have sleeping bags in the garage.

A plumber's wrench would be greatly appreciated and is at the top of my Christmas list, but sometimes I feel all the wrenches belong to monkeys. The dripping of time has become a steady stream. All my efforts to stop it are in vain. The leak has taken on a life of its own and I suppose that the only thing left is to go with the flow.

I wonder: Is Santa licensed? I assume he still makes house calls.