I love December. I do. But with it comes a small amount of stress. Okay, a lot. I’m nowhere near ready for Christmas at this point, unlike years past. Like that kind of “not ready” that means if I wake up in the night I have trouble shutting down my brain. It wants to list all the things left to do and add new ones. It’s so silly, how you wake up in the morning and roll your eyes and feel like you aren’t even that worried about that brain list but Night Person thought you were.
Anyway. I was walking into the store, all hurried and brain-listing, and this girl was up by the door, her arms spread wide like she was receiving, and her face was turned to the bleak winter sun. She shouted, so loud, WHAT A GOOD DAY TO BE ALIVE!! She was just there, walking in to shop, and stopped to soak up the day, celebrate it, and praise it right out loud.
The stress in me flew out on the wind with her words.
I watched from the hallway, my oldest sitting at his hand-me-down desk that I found on the side of the road one day. I can remember feeling excited as we trimmed it in molding, primed, and painted it. For 2 years, I don’t think it’s been anything more than a fixture in the boy’s room, unused. Except last night. Work was being done on that desk.
From the same spot in the hallway, I could see my two youngest playing together, sharing the same toys. The smallest plowing over the older brother, who didn’t seem to mind much at all.
I got choked up and Bailey asked from her bedroom if I was okay. These poor kids with their sensitive mother always noticing. No, I’m fine. I’m just watching you guys. I love watching you kids when you’re not looking.She sorta made a funny face at me, and then we both laughed. Giddiness is contagious, and it’s rainy and bleary but it’s a good day to be alive.