An hour later, there is the crackling of amber, the unwrapping of the presents. Divy was carted off for a talk shortly after, and while Markus and I made plans to drive down to the annual Christmas Eve Open House, neither of us could resist the sleepy pull of the fire. We sat long on a pile of sunroom cushions, blankets littered with wrapping paper. He arrived hungry, roasted sausages over the fire.
(Later, the silent night would turn decidedly less so, but for now, all was calm.)
This is the year I am learning to pace myself. Learning that the gifts will be wrapped when they must. That seven holiday cards are better than none. That there was nothing sporty about a 90 mile trek to Bethlehem; that there needn’t be here.
Thus: our first Christmas experience was as you’d expect it to be – lovely and maddening, cheeks pinked and tempers red. We’d rang the bell at dark, chosen a wide silver one after aggressive indecision from the 8-year-old; he who wanted a voice in the matter, but couldn’t land on a chair.
There was a hot cider detour. A trip to the World Market, the famed chorus of where are the cookies and “Can we check at another store?”s ringing through every aisle. Checkout lines under bright garish lights. Two hours later, sugar pulsing through the veins of pint-sized children, the tree was ready with it's lights and we, the parents, were ready for light’s out.
So we paused. Recalibrated. Opened presents on a new day, with new energy (and detoxified systems) to greet us. It was far lovelier this way, inching out the miles a bit. Tree decorating one day, cookie dough making the next. Just last week, Markus and I finally managed to eek out a trip to the mall, our shopping fueled by pride and purpose.
It’s a reminder I need every year: that holidays with small children are swirly as snow globes, happily shattering our own delicate expectations for a real wonderland.
All the while: cold walks, warm feet, gift-sacking the black and white cookies for a few friends. This afternoon, the boys and I headed the canyon for a Christmas ski tour throughout the mountains.
Happy haul-idays, we’ll sing tomorrow to all.
Happy holidays, I write today to you.
p.s. See you in 2021, friends. It is such a joy to greet you here, and such a joy to tell you so. From the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of another year, thank you, thank you, thank you.
