Christmas is over.
We had the whole crowd here, complete with one “significant other”, some friends, and our “granddog”, Miss Izzy.
Everything was lovely, even if the dogs did have to be separated at times. We had a huge and festive Christmas breakfast,
And we opened all the loot.
We laughed, we swapped stories, we soaked in the hot tub together (even though we couldn’t really fit and half the water sloshed out…….) and we reminded ourselves of how lucky we are that we are all still able to be together on these special days.
For me, the best and sweetest moments were those little ones: running to get some last minute groceries with Tim on Christmas eve, waking up on Christmas morning, and realizing that all three of my children were once again under my roof. Sitting quietly at the table and listening to the jokes and stories of my three, Kate’s Sam, and the two old friends who had come to share our Christmas dinner. It has been so incredibly long since I have been able to sit back and look at a full table!
That was the toast that I made, champagne glass in hand, lump in my throat: “A toast to the pleasure of having all of you around my table once again!”
This morning, I woke up late. I lay still for a bit, feeling my achy muscles. The house was quiet, but it didn’t make me sad this time. This morning, I could still feel the vibrating energy of all those voices, all that love, all of the celebrating. This morning, the memories of the holiday are blending gently with the memories of holidays past, and I am content to soak in the atmosphere, still filled with my children’s presence.
Today, we are tired.
Tucker and Sadie are spent, having used up all of their doggy energy in trying to get to know Izzy, and trying to figure out how to share the couch.
Paul and I are spent, too. We have been busy the past few days, cleaning, wrapping, cooking, organizing, decorating, then celebrating as if we were still in our 20’s! The late nights, rich foods and bubbly drinks have all taken a toll, and today we are feeling pretty limp.
But its a good “limp”. Its the kind of boneless lethargy that comes from having done it right. My heart is resting today; it can’t take any more joyful tears as I look at my children. It can’t take any more sorrowful tears as I think of the 20 mothers who can’t look at theirs. My brain is resting; it doesn’t have any more energy to plan another meal for my crew. It certainly has no more energy for trying to find a way to end the senseless violence that has gripped our entire country.
Today I am limp. I am resting on the couch, tea cup in hand, watching TV as the weathermen predict a foot of snow.
The house is warm, and clean and quiet. The dogs are snoring, and Paul is reading a book.
I am limp.
And its a very good feeling.