The sun dips low on another December, on another year.
I feel as I do every year, filled with equal parts nostalgia and excitement. I look forward, I look back. I remember, I predict. I look through pictures I snapped over the past year and smile, captured memories bringing up thoughts of moments escaped by my ever-present lens.
It seems fitting that I will spend time with my best friend today, reminiscing over the past year — and more. When your anniversary falls the week before Christmas, sometimes it feels easier to let it side completely. I like it best when we make time to be together, just the two of us, sometime before our favorite month ends — before the sun sets on yet another year spent together, doing this thing we do.
I do not know what awaits us in these last few moments of 2013. I do not know what awaits us when the sun rises on 2014. I do know that I grew and changed in unexpected ways this year, but maybe that’s a post for another day — or maybe not. Today I feel blessed to be here, in this space with these people who make up my life, and take witness to yet another year on its way out.
Last week, my mother-in-law called to finalize plans for our Christmas Day celebrations. In the middle of the conversation, she asked if she could keep the boys for two days as my nephew would also be staying over for a few days. I love when the cousins all get time to play together, so I agreed to drop them back off after we finished up other Christmas Day jaunts about Ohio.
BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER!
Maybe that sounds awful. But yesterday, I woke up at seven o’clock to take care of the dog, read for two hours, and went back to sleep for another hour. My husband slept until eleven o’clock. (Note: He’s also fighting a cold, so he really needed the sleep.) I then worked with no interruptions. I turned my office back into an office and not a Wrapping Room. I put away some holiday specific stuff that didn’t need to be out any more. I don’t fully de-decorate until after the first of January, but some stuff like our Santa tray and other odds and ends made their way back downstairs into the holiday closet.
My husband put together the chair he bought for me.
It’s so perfect. He wins so hard.
He set up the new sound bar. He vacuumed and started the laundry. Did I mention he’s the best husband ever?
I went for a run.
We chased the dog around the dining room with a remote control helicopter.
Then? We went on a date.
But today? I’m missing them. I want to build with the new Legos. I want to play the new video games. I want to make them eat the eleventy billion cookies we have left from my overzealous holiday baking spree. I want to answer all the questions. Oh wait, maybe not that one, but the silence in the house — just like when they’re at school — is only beautiful and luxurious for a certain amount of time. The sheen of it wears off quickly, and the dull silence quickly becomes deafening.
Later today, after work and my run, I will drive over the creeks and through the woods and down the winding roads to pick up my two boys. I’ll snuggle with my nephew for a little bit before packing up my noisy two into the car. We’ll drive home, and by the time we get back to the house, my ears will be tired from the constant talking and chatter and telling of stories that happened while we were apart. I will remind myself that I missed this, their noise and their loud presence.
I will give them cookies and love and the present of my time. Until bedtime.