All my kids were back under my roof last night, which meant I passed out at 8 p.m. with the weight of all the “what ifs?” and other worries finally OFF my back. They were all safe and sound and HERE. Under my roof. There is nothing better in the world than that.
Then, the morning came and of course craziness ensued. Pretty sure I heard one of the kids tell Alexa to “F-off” when her alarm went off. (Not the first time, I might add. I have very articulate yet sweary children.)
There is no food for lunches, someone said I bought the wrong syrup?!?, and in order for my kids to “dress down” today at school, they each need $2. I just threw a giant Ziploc bag of pennies at them and said, “Godspeed.”
The day is going to be filled with holiday errands, 45 pounds of laundry that smells like stale keg beer that my son brought home from college, and a school Christmas pageant tonight that, well, let’s just say I’ve seen 85 times. Joy to the world!
And yet, this morning I am not complaining. (I know, that’s a new one, right?)
Earlier this week brought news of a dear friend and mother who is just beginning to fight the battle of her life. Followed by another mom who shared she was thanking God for healing her child, and for getting the chance to have another Christmas with her.
Then this morning I realized it has been nearly 7 years since a classroom of children in Sandy Hook were gunned down right before Christmas.
This week I have been looking at the holidays through a different lens. Is it busy? Yep. Am I tired? You betcha. Is my patience on its last leg, and does everything seem like a major ordeal? Hell yes it does.
But then I am suckerpunched with the realization I get to do this.
I GET TO DO THIS. I GET THIS PRIVILEGE!!
I am here.
My body is healthy and stable (my mind, not so much).
My kids are healthy and here. They are loud and demanding and hungry and needy but they are HERE.
So for the next few weeks, we are going to trash this house and eat all the cheeseballs.
We are going to drive around and look at Christmas lights while the kids whine and tell us how uncool we are.
We’re going to listen to all the bad Christmas carols (Jessica Simpson, I’m talking to YOU), and we’re gonna watch Elf for the 50th time.
We’re gonna go ice skating and fall on our butts, make gingerbread houses that look like gumdrop explosions, and be in each other’s faces as much as humanly possible (or until we want to punch someone).
Because WE GET TO DO THIS.
Moms, you GET to do Christmas this year!!
So don’t for one second let that simple truth escape you.
Have a merry weekend, friends.