Every year, I host Christmas. I scrub for days, plan menus down to the minute, coordinate oven schedules, and usually carry a permanent dusting of flour by mid-December. This year, between my full-time job, the chaos of school schedules, and the house never staying clean for more than ten minutes, I hit a breaking point. I called my mom and, as calmly as I could, told her I wouldn’t be hosting.Continue reading…
