- Finish wrapping all presents that have arrived, squelch muppet-flailing panic about those which have not. ETA: Have spent 5 hours alternating between wrapping, laundry, and cleaning DeathCloset. Parents have called in with an earliest arrival of Late Tomorrow Night so I have decided to spare the last of my spine and finish wrapping tomorrow morning.
- Stow wrapping detritus out of guest room and into someplace still easily accessible, not underfoot, and out of reach of kittens. And also containing magical gold-shitting ponies.
- Get in high-level aerobic workout by dodging hyperactive KitTweens dashing beneath feet during all of the above. Pray that said workout does not become "high-impact" for either of the involved parties.
- Buy New, Covered Catbox of Not-Yet-Befouled
- Stock up on Gooshyfood under threat of Death By Meering
- Perform surgical ninja strike on rosebushes, AKA "winterizing"
- Explain to the nice officers why I am leaping about my own backyard with pruning shears yelling "HAI! REVENGE FOR THE SHOGUN!"
- Rent steamcleaner. Alternately, practice snooty expression when I ask if holiday guests have REALLY never heard of the new Jackson Pollock line of carpeting that is the New Big Thing in Paris?
- Schlep boxes in garage into attic. Curse personal neuroses that demand I do these things when absolutely no one cares except said neuroses, and those fuckers didn't even give me a Xmas present.
- Go to chiropractor, whimpering softly. Be folded, spindled and mutilated in ways that will enable me to spend the holidays relatively upright, rather than in a posture suggesting an unholy union between Baba Yaga and a huge prawn.
- Enter convenient place where I have stowed wrapping supplies to complete wrapping of the rest of my gifts WHICH WILL HAVE ARRIVED BY THEN LA LA LA I AM NOT LISTENING
- Tell Mr. Tumnus to either help me wrap or shove off
- Figure out something delicious to cook for incoming familial horde
- Welcome said horde to first largely-inclusive family gathering at my house. Feel like this somehow certifies me as a Real Adult now. Crave plaque, or at least a license of some sort.