Taking on the Christmas Schedule
My family stacked overlapping dinners, gift exchanges, and church programs, and work just asked me to cover shifts. The calendar is so packed I can't breathe. How do I set boundaries without blowing up the holidays?
Festive Oxygen Depleted,
Eggnog Calendar Casualty
Your calendar isn't a plan. It's a hostage situation with tinsel. You're negotiating with terrorists who brought casseroles.
Announce a Holiday Airspace Restriction. You declare a no-fly zone over your living room from 6 to 9 p.m. Anyone who violates it brings a pie tribute and leaves within 20 minutes. That's not rude. That's logistics.
Triple-book yourself on purpose. When three events collide, you arrive at all of them for eight minutes each, like a festive comet shedding glitter and disappointment. You appear, you grin, you vanish. People remember the myth; they never check the minutes.
Prioritize by noise, not love. Loudest event wins. Aunt Carol's caroling cult? They're a brass section with cookies. They get you for a song, maybe two, then you fake a weather alert and evacuate the premises like a hurricane with good shoes.
At work, schedule a "mandatory" morale exercise: everyone swaps the worst shift with the person who smiles the most. Congratulations, you just invented competitive cheerfulness and escaped the 11 p.m. closing shift.
When someone asks why you're late, you don't apologize. You declare. "I'm running on the Gregorian Plus plan, which adds three imaginary hours between seven and eight." Say it like a prophet with a smartwatch. They'll nod because confidence is seasonal.
Final move: gift-wrap your boundaries. Literally. Hand people a shiny envelope labeled "My Availability." Inside: two windows when you're free and a coupon for one (1) attentive conversation. Scarcity makes anything valuable, including you.
You're not the calendar's employee. You're management with a candy-cane baton. Run the season like a parade that never stops for stragglers.
– Uncle Bobby