Off to a Rocky Advent start...

One of my least favorite qualities in people is the fake.
I like that balance between "keepin' it real" and "Your Facebook status is NOT a diary."

Every woman has her Holiday Breaking Point and this is the story of mine. 
Maybe yours will be in the post office while mailing packages.
Or decorating the tree with rowdy children.
Or burning cookies.
Whenever and whatever yours is, take heart.
You are not alone.
Oh, and be kind to your fellow females when their meltdown comes.

My HBP 2o13.
(It came early, lucky me.)
You see, I was totally into getting our Advent countdowns started.
I have a system of three things so that each boy gets to do one a day until Christmas.

We wrap up 24 books, like so:

And we have our homemade Advent calendar, like so: 

And this year, we added in these cute little bags, like so:

Only the story of how the bags got their home is a tad, um, not so Martha Stewart.
Maybe cigarette trading-jail Martha, but not "It's a good thing" Martha.

You see, I stamped/painted the numbers on the bags. Easy, done, looked good.
I placed a "Ticket" that I made (yes, made! I am tech challenged so I was kind of proud
of this part. No computer was crashed during the making of this card! Yeah!) and a
chocolate goes inside each bag. (the tickets are for various home perks, like skipping a chore, extra lunch cookies, etc.)

Then I got the bright idea to hang them from the ever adorable red baker's twine.
This would've been fine except for I also decided to use cute holiday Washi Tape to hang them on the wall.
Yeah, so Washi Tape... not so strong. I started to have my doubts about the sustainability
of my Advent Wall Art.

So that night, as I lay in bed, every few hours, I would hear a distinctive thud, knowing it was my cute little bags hitting the floor. And yep, I admit it.
I was so mad about getting woken up, repeatedly,
that I thought some not so nice thoughts about those cute little bags.
HBP had arrived at my door and I was not ready for it.
At one point when Micah leaned up upon hearing one of the thuds, I just muttered, "It's just my stupid, freaking Advent bags falling down." 
What kind of a heathen mom makes Advent bags and then curses their existence?!
THIS ONE.

So the next day, I set about making things right.
This old crib spring was supposed to be hung for a photo display a long time ago.
Someone couldn't decide what color to paint it though, so it sat.

But it works just right for my vile, adorable little Advent bags.

The moral of the story is...
Um, there is no moral. Just keep it real and be on the look out for other women in your life going through HBP. I have seen it on the baking aisle at the grocery store, the class Christmas party, and even, the Christmas tree farm. Encourage one another, and offer soy, I think that helps with the hot flashes, oh wait, wrong woman disease.  Offer wine...