Friday, Nov. 21, 2008

The Confessions of a Mad Housewife

For 45 weeks a year I am a sweet, loving, generous wife and mother. But, just before Thanksgiving I turn into a decorating, buying, wrapping, cooking (I use the term loosely) holiday control freak. Everything associated with Thanksgiving or Christmas is performed under my micro-managed direction.

Maybe it’s my Virgo desire for perfection; maybe it’s the curse of being the first-born; or possibly it’s the pressure from neighbors who decorate like Clark Griswold. Whatever the reason, I am wound so tight this time of year that my skin is actually taut — which explains my youthful appearance through New Year’s Day.

During the holidays I rifle through cookbooks even though I haven’t cooked in years; I shop for Thanksgiving-themed table napkins for a pre-ordered feast from Central Market and spend days searching for gifts my daughters will return the day after Christmas. I frantically clean and meticulously place fall leaf, gourd and burnt-orange décor and then replace it with Christmas chatzkes well before the turkey is carved on Thanksgiving Day.

Like a marathoner, my adrenaline is pumping. It’s a race from the week before Thanksgiving until the kids go back to school in January. I am stressed out and complain most of the time ... but oddly enough, it’s what I live for.

This is the time when, like most matriarchs, I am at my best — with the pressure of everyone’s holiday happiness riding on my shoulders. As the CEO of this household, there is no time for holiday cheer. This job requires the management skills of a business titan.

So I guess that’s why holidays with my family are like an episode of The Apprentice.

Years ago, the whole family pitched in with decorating, lights, baking and wrapping. Sure it was fun, but Southern Living would never shoot my home for a holiday spread. Then I quit my day job and became the Martha Stewart version of Donald Trump, sans the ankle monitor and comb over.

Just as in The Apprentice we now have a project manager for various holiday tasks. Each year my husband is the project manager for the outdoor lights. Upon completion of the assignment, I interrogate him, a la "The Donald," about why the lights aren’t symmetrical, why there aren’t more and why the Apex family’s lights sparkle more than our duds.

Our children, his unwilling assistants for the project, blame him, the project manager. They claim Dad’s poor organization and leadership skills produce symmetry problems. Dad claims it is the kids’ lack of creative vision that results in our house looking exactly like every other house on the block.

After a tongue-lashing, I redo their work. There is no need to say, "You’re fired."

This time of year I am on call 24/7. You never know when Market Street will run low on fresh cranberries or a member of your management team will try to outsmart you.

Two years ago my husband went rogue. He alleges that he was acting in his capacity as project manager and made the executive decision to outsource the lighting job. He figured this would relieve some of his holiday stress. It didn’t work. When our daughter headed to college he was reassigned as project manager for storage and retrieval of Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas decorations.

The holiday tasks are innumerable, but it’s important to have balance.

This year, I have pledged to my family to be more unstructured. For several months I have planned spontaneity during the holidays. After reviewing the calendar, I scheduled time to relax and sent an e-mail to my kids and husband confirming the date.

I sure hope they are prepared to kick back; we may need a project manager.

Michele Valdez is a slightly compulsive, mildly angry feminist, past attorney and present volunteer. She lives in Colleyville with her demanding children and husband.