Christmas was not a problem because my house had hiding places.
I could start shopping in July, be done well before December, and then enjoy every minute of the holiday season without having to rush about trying to find gifts.
Last year, our first Christmas on the East Coast, was a little trickier. I didn't have access to aunt's and grandma's, so I had to schedule shopping trips ahead of time and coordinate them with DadGuy and traffic and store hours. It was touchy at times, but I hid things under blankets in the car until I could move them to the {locked} closet under the stairs.
This year, I haven't even begun to think about gifts.
I have no where to hide them.
There is no safe area in my home. No closet that is underused. No nook or cranny that I can utilize. The attic is even off limits because A) the access is in the shortlings bedroom and B) the opening is itty-bitty.
I've sat on the couch for much too long, contemplating various hiding places, but they're no good.
No good because that's where we keep the coats.
And the tools.
And the toilet paper.
Christmas, we have a problem.
