Don't Rush Me

It's Christmas morning.

So far today, I have squeezed into new pajamas one size too small (Christmas gift, you know); dropped a cookie sheet on my big toe (upsetting the elf in the living room, I'm sure); and popped a cherry pie in the oven (thanks ever be to Marie Callender and her frozen pie wonders). Before my coffee really kicks in, I will have went a round with a ham and a sheet of aluminum foil and wondered (for the umpteenth time) why on earth I told the kids I would have Christmas dinner ready at noon.

Gotta work on that thinking before speaking thing.

We opened presents last night with everyone together, minus one girlfriend, and I successfully prolonged the much-anticipated event by insisting that gifts were opened one at a time (a strategy the husband questioned me on). My feeling was this, we have all had a good year around here. There have been lean years in the past... okay, mostly all lean years, and although there is no doubt every Christmas has went down in the books as a good Christmas, I wanted this particular good Christmas to last.

So one-at-a-time we went.

By doing so, I got to see the smile on the face of the oldest when he peeled back the paper from a sign reaffirming his much beloved Second Amendment. The last two Christmases (is that even a word?) he lived three hours northeast of us. This Christmas he lives three minutes northwest of us. I am so thankful that boy is back home working a job he loves.

The middle patiently unwrapped individual gift cards from his sister that will take a dent out of his constant desire to eat from the always convenient local drive-thrus. He announced last week that he was moving out of our house and in with his brother. I will miss hearing the lock turn on the front door and knowing he is behind it at the end of a work day, but I am so thankful we raised two boys who get along.

The eyes of the youngest practically teared up when she unwrapped tissue paper from a cat-themed organizer. When someone initially asked her what the gift was, she simply said she didn't know, but it had a cat paw on it. She is learning the hardships of holding down a job while tackling college courses and although the stress can be overwhelming, she hasn't cracked yet. I am so thankful for her perseverance.

The husband was proud of his new "Dad" sign to hang on his shed. I obviously loved my one-size-too-small pajamas. My mom shared stories of my dad's battle with a backyard mole... a story that was inspired by a gift from one of the grandkids. A girlfriend smiled at her beautiful new necklace and a boyfriend modeled his new cowboy hat for us.

And that's just a sampling.

As my dad said in his final days, "We've had good times and bad times. I wouldn't trade any of it for a dime." I have come to understand that the bad times make the good times all the more sweet, and that if it takes a solid hour of the mother insisting that each person has their moment in the living-room spotlight, then so be it. That's why I offered cocoa in the beginning.

I don't want to miss a thing.

Christmas 1999