Spreadsheets & Holidaze

Hello, I'm HiKath, and I have a spreadsheet for that.  

For what?  Yes, that.

I have spreadsheets for budgets, retirement, renovations, Christmas presents, cards, and even birthday adventures.

As someone who starts Christmas shopping in January at the after-Christmas sales, I woke up this week and said, “Oh crap, September is almost over!” So I’m feeling behind the 8-ball.

I’ve got at least six Christmas presents ready, and I’ve purchased my cards and stamps. However, I’m missing every single one of my big HITTers. (Pun intended.)

Every one of the Hitt grands has a birthday in the fourth quarter. Don’t argue with me. Sept. 29 counts as fourth quarter for purposes of my spreadsheet.

Between now and Christmas, seven family birthdays are coming up, including mine. AND—I have two vacations scheduled. Counting the one I’m currently on at Hilton Head Island.

So while I’m out riding the bike or walking the beach, my mind is singing… “gotta get it done, gotta get it done, gotta do my Christmas (and birthday) shopping”

“There’s no time for stopping!”

This grannie likes to plan individual adventures with the kids to create birthday memories.

I know in my heart that even though we have done some pretty cool things together on our adventures, sometimes the memory is an unexpected twist.

For Tucker, when I took him on MARTA to the Fox to see PJ Masks, his favorite part of the whole night was cake pops. Yes, I let him get one at the start and again at the end of the evening. It was the least expensive part of the night.

I took both boys to Cirque du Soleil one year, and they had the most fun in the car with competitive farting on the ride home. SMH—Mothers of boys, you know it’s true.

I took Dalton parasailing in the Bahamas on a cruise. I was so afraid they wouldn't let us back on the ship when I realized he had handed his mom his cruise badge as he and I left to join the parasailing group. If they hadn’t let us board, I suppose there could be worse places to be stuck, but they believed me and let us both back on.

Dalton and I have taken a helicopter ride, been to a Falcons game, and gone to the College Football Hall of Fame—followed by lots of jalapeños on a pizza, a Ferris wheel, and scooters.

Maybe this is the year I have to accept that creating a birthday memory doesn’t necessarily require a reservation, waiver, helmet, or harness.

Maybe dinner with Grannie, some cold hard cash and a sixteen-year-old who still wants to spend an evening with me is its own pretty spectacular adventure.

For the record, I’m not stressed.   Let’s just call it hyperaware that it’s 90-some days until Christmas.   HO HO HO—Make it a good one!

P.S. And if Santa should ask, I’ve been exceptionally good this year.