We are all settled in our new location. As I write this I have the window open to the street out front so I can listen for my 7 year old who is playing with the kids across the street.
I’m taken back in time as I listen to them all play. They argue. They yell over each other. The ride their bikes up and down the street. They pretend to be on horses and want to name them.
I’m transported to my childhood. Playing with my next door neighbors. Running up and down the court until mother calls us in for the night. In high school we would play hide and seek after dark.
My 16 year old and her friends have taken up the baton of hide and seek in the neighborhood and I smile at the memories. Happy that she’s not too old to be a kid again.
My mom would lean out the door and whistle for us to come home. This usually began the Exodus of kids heading home for the evening to get ready for school again tomorrow, or to meet outside at such and such a time if it was summer.
For a moment tonight I’m a kid again. Running to knock on the door of Tanya & Tara seeing if they can join me and Andy as we play out at the man hole cover in the middle.
I am able to give thanks this year for many things. I’m thankful for my girls. I’m thankful my family is healthy and my girls are learning every day in school. I’m thankful for the myriad of learning opportunities that engulfed all of us this year.
I’m thankful for you who read this. For taking the time to find out what I have to say. I have lots of stories, both funny and sad, and everything in between that I’ll share here in this space.
It’s been a year of personal growth for me. I’m not who I was in January and I’m curious to see what happens as 2020 closes and 2021 opens.
The holidays are here and, I for one, am looking forward to Santa coming. I will be peaking through the blinds on Christmas Eve scanning the night sky looking for Rudolph’s red nose.
I. Have spent. The last 3 hours. being talked at. By a 6 year old. We. Have been in the car. The living room. The dining room. I am now holed up in the bathroom so I can give my ears a rest. Send. Help.
My husband always laughs at me at this time of the year. He grew up not being big on Christmas, which meant not a whole lot of Christmas music. This is unfathomable to me. In my house Christmas was always a big deal and my parents went all out for the holidays which meant my brothers and I got to reap the rewards.
There is one Christmas I remember vividly. It was actually before Christmas, but it was our trip to get our Christmas tree. There was a local place called, Frank’s Nursery. I close my eyes and see myself, and my brother, standing in the store; and over the speakers you could hear Perry Como crooning, “Silver Bells.” Ugh. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. That memory is so vivid and so real. Even these 30 odd years later.
Do you ever hear people complain about how Christmas merchandise gets pushed out earlier and earlier every year? I admit, I used to be one of those complainers. Last year, I realized something else. What if instead of it being about consumerism, it was about trying to become little again. What if it’s about trying to recapture those warm holiday feelings we had as a child?
Just for once being able to feel the way we did when someone else took care of us. When someone else bought our toys and helped as we put them together? When we spent Christmas Eve staring out at the night sky in hopes of a glimpse of Santa and Rudolph? What about that feeling of trying to stay up and rousing ourselves at every noise? OR how about going in and waking your sibling before the sun is even up because you can’t sleep anymore?
I, for one, start playing Christmas music in August. It brings me a sense of calm and rightness with the world. It reminds me when it’s hot outside, which I detest, that good things are on their way. That pretty soon I’ll be preparing for Thanksgiving, and then Christmas, and then New Years.
Now, it’s time for me to prepare dinner, and I need to queue up, “The Carpenter’s Christmas” album.