For whatever reason, Christmas this year has been what I can best describe as disorganized. And I’m not talking the can’t-find-my-car-keys type disorganized, but rather the can’t-find-my-car disorganized. The holidays are usually hectic, and usually, at some point my stress level reaches a critical mass, and I begin a passive-aggressive rant, enumerating the list of undone things to a flinching husband. And, for any who are keeping track, this year that day came on a Wednesday. This last Wednesday, to be exact.

I usually get this out of the way much earlier in the season, right around the time that I manufacture a self-imposed 24-hour deadline to get Stella’s party organized, make all my online purchases, have the Christmas cards made, cure cancer AND clean my house. And for my husband, the first sign of danger is that I am actually verbalizing my anxiety. Out loud. Not just with despondent looks and heavy sighs. The only thing worse than a stressed-out internalizer, is a stressed-out internalizer, externalizing.

An unintended upside to this precipitous drop in the joy of the holiday is the realization that my husband is composed of equal parts, hotness, humor, OCD and awesomeness. After collapsing from complete physical and emotional exhaustion at 8:30 on Wednesday night, I woke up Thursday morning to find that he had gone out, bought groceries, made our Christmas candy, started the laundry, re-checked all shipping ETAs, straightened up the house, loaded the dishwasher, come up with some reasonable ideas for the remaining person whom, heretofore, had not a single gift yet purchased for them, because they do nothing but eat sleep and work. (You know who you are, Scott Walston)

Instead of appreciating him for his ability to rise to the occasion when I most need him, I tend to incessantly needle him about his compulsive behavior, flair for the dramatic and inability to multi-task. In reality, he is the one who puts up with my disaffected, stoic self, and picks up the pieces when my control-freak cape begins to fray around the edges. And if I could wrap this appreciation and put it under the tree, I would. Because that would mean one less gift I would have to stress about tracking online.