The Christmas Pivot

(Or: How My House Entered Witness Protection)

There comes a sacred moment every December when you look at your to-do list — the one you created in early November while sipping something warm and aspirational — and realize it was written by a completely different person. A person with energy. Optimism. Time. Possibly staff.

This is the moment of The Christmas Pivot.

Up until now, the plan was impressive. Not “reasonable,” mind you — impressive. Handmade everything. Multiple courses. Coordinated wrapping. A manicure that whispered, I have my life together. The house would glow. Guests would assume I live like this year-round.

Reader, we are no longer that household.

Somewhere between the fourth grocery list and the third “quick tidy,” reality arrived like a rogue reindeer through the front door. The list was not just ambitious — it was delusional.

And so… we pivot.

First comes the Shove Strategy.

This is a highly technical maneuver where items are not put away so much as relocated aggressively.

• That stack of mail? Door.

• Random décor that no longer sparks joy? Closet.

• Mystery cords? Drawer.

• Entire projects I was “almost done with”? Behind a closed door we shall never speak of again.

Which brings us to the creation of the Off-Limits Room.

Every holiday household has one. A room that looks perfectly normal from the outside but is, in fact, a crime scene. This is where half-decorated wreaths, unused serving platters, and the dreams of early December go to rest. We do not open this door. We do not explain this door. If someone accidentally reaches for the handle, we laugh nervously and say, “Oh! That’s… a storage room.”

Storage for WHAT?

The ghosts of good intentions.

Then comes the Emergency Store Run — also known as admitting defeat in the baking department.

Yes, I planned to make that.

No, I will not be making that.

Yes, I did already buy the ingredients.

No, we will not discuss what happens to those ingredients after Christmas.

Suddenly, the bakery section looks like a warm hug. Cookies appear that I theoretically could have made if time were fictional. Desserts that whisper, No one will know. And honestly? They won’t. Not a soul has ever taken a bite of store-bought pie and said, “Hmm. This lacks martyrdom.”

Next to go: The Manicure.

Cancelled. Immediately. Nails are now in what I call “neutral holiday survival mode.” Do they match my outfit? No. Are they clean? Mostly. Will anyone notice? Absolutely not. If someone does, they are welcome to help with dishes.

And let’s talk about Wrapping.

Ah yes. Early December me had plans. Coordinated paper. Ribbon. A theme. Possibly twine. Maybe a sprig of something organic.

Late December me is digging through a bag of gift bags like a raccoon in a Target parking lot.

Those cute wrapping ideas?

NOPE.

We are now in Bag Mode. Stuff it. Tissue paper. Done. If the bag is slightly wrinkled, that is called texture. If it’s reused, that’s sustainability. If it’s questionable, we tape it and move on with our lives.

And through it all, there is a strange, unspoken agreement among us all.

We are doing our best.

We are tired.

We love our people.

And Christmas will still happen — even if the candles aren’t perfectly spaced and the cookies came from aisle seven.

So please tell me — PLEASE — I am not the only one who has pivoted this week.

Who shoved, canceled, substituted, bagged, and boldly declared a room off-limits.

Because if you relate, welcome. Pull up a chair.

Just… don’t open that door.

🎄

Julie Bolejack, MBA

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