Savoring It

The stockings, once bulging in odd formations, have deflated. The ornaments have made their way back into the boxes of bubble wrap, the company has left and the house is… a mess. But it’s okay. For the first time, I am enjoying the leftover Christmas sprawl that has now taken over our home. The chaotic piles of presents in the living room that have not yet found their home, plastic decoration boxes stacked in the hall procrastinating their return into the attic, a nativity still perched in the guest bedroom and a fridge full of sticks of butter and no real food. I’m savoring it all. It still feels like Christmas in here and I plan to hold on to that for a bit.

I almost didn’t write about this Christmas because as wondrous as it was, it wasn’t perfect (although, pretty darn close), and that spot in my heart where I write from is also where I burrow those feelings. It’s hard to give one without exposing the other. There was a lot of good, a lot of fun, a freakload of love and isn’t that what the holiday is about? Let me recap for you…

We officially kicked off the week of festivities with a Winter Solstice party which was the loveliest I’ve been. Granted, it was our first, but even so. Thank you Sharon and Jeff for including us in the intimate gathering! It was a fantastic evening and we were flattered.

Our Christmas Eve dinner, now falling on the Eve of Christmas Eve was once again in order. A yearly time when we gather with the people, who through the years, have become our extended families to eat, reminisce, catch up and celebrate. It never fails to be one of the highlights of the year. We always pick right back up where we left off – and we don’t hold back. We used to be the kids on the Feather Sound block. Now we are the grown ups, who act like those kids when we get together again.

It’s true – we took over my nieces shrinky-dink set. If you could have only seen our eyes light up with glee when it was discovered. The oven was cranked on before you could say “Pass me the colored pencil!”.

And we danced. Everyone put their hands up for Miley Cyrus’s Party in the USA, and that was just kickin’ it off.

It was fantastic.

Continuing our Christmas Eve German tradition, Brad put Aubrey and Madeline to bed and the adults gathered in the living room to exchange gifts. At around 11:30pm we scurried to clean up our mess of wrapping paper and bows strewn across the floor as the presents Santa had delivered were thoughtfully arranged around the tree. It was time. Christmas bells were jingling and I stood in the hall, anxiously waiting with my camera, while Brad woke up Aubs. “Aubrey, Santa’s here!”, Brad said as he pulled down the covers and rustled her shoulder, “Don’t you want to see Santa?”. Aubrey flipped over, pulled herself into a tight fetal position and casually replied “No, I don’t want to.” In the meantime Scott was by the front door whisper-shouting to my mom, who was still rattling the bells, “What do I do?!?” “Tell Santa to wait!” she replied with forceful eyes. “Santa, wait! Don’t leave yet! Come back!” Scott beckoned at the dark night sky. With that, Brad whisked Aubs out of bed, still in fetal position, and ran her out to try and catch Santa. It was, well, hilarious. It felt kind of cruel waking them from their peaceful slumber, but remembering how much we loved it growing up, it was worth it. The excitement of almost catching a glimpse of Santa and checking out the half eaten reindeer carrots on the driveway. It was wondrous.

We tried, and failed an embarrassing number of times, to do our advent prayer each night. We sat down for dinner and I grabbed my phone to pull up the daily email from my mom as to the days prayer. “God, what I really want you to know is…”. I sat there frozen for a moment. I don’t even remember what Scott said. It was something very sweet and along the lines of good and happy, I do remember that. It was my turn. My eyes welt up with glassy pools of water as I avoided any eye contact with Scott, instead glaring intently ahead. This was my chance to leave all humility at the door. No begging, no asking or pleading but instead, a firm statement with soft delivery. “God, what I really want you to know is… I really want my dad to have a good Christmas this year. It’s really important to me. Just a good Christmas. That’s really all that I want.” After last years events, this was needed, this was a desperate attempt to bring good.

It’s hard to find the right adjective to describe this Christmas when the light my dad brings into a room was many times quietly retreated to the bedroom, under an electric blanket in search for some relief. The spirit of his soul still radiating every ounce there was to offer. What an incredible trooper. It’s hard to say it was grand when you continue through the motions of the holiday, yet an integral piece of Christmas, family, is suffering. It’s an odd feeling, that’s difficult to describe, to celebrate with material things when the thing you want the most not even kings could afford. Still, I am grateful. Our dad was home. Sugar Plum fairies or not, we were together. This, I would say, was just lovely.

Suggested Listening: Winter Song / Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson

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Tampa, Florida