Maybe this year

Well, Christmas is upon us. This is one of those times of year that I wish would last so much longer than it does. It’s not the gifts. Sure gifts are nice, but I much prefer the look and feel. I like being able to take my girls into a neighborhood all lit up and collecting canned for people who need it. I like that so many people participate in charities that usually don’t throughout the year, like Toys for Tots, or soup kitchens or Adopt-a-Family-For-Christmas. I like that for one season, many of us can realize how lucky we are and how we can help those less fortunate (that would be those of us NOT fist fighting at the department stores). I enjoy sitting down and adding the loving touches to a wrapped gift, even if it’s only a tin of popcorn. I enjoy the snow, the Santas, the music, the bells. When I was little, the Christmas season (for me) started in June. I would play my favorite Christmas records and start scavenging wrapping paper like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. As soon as we got the JCPenney Christmas catalog in the mail, I would start marking the pages with everything I wanted. But now, I don’t do that. Now I long for one thing every year. Every year, I just wish for one night where I can sit down snuggled up on the couch with the hubby and kids, watching some sweet Christmas movie. The only light in the room would be the lights on the tree. The house would be clean and we would all be drinking hot chocolate and eating some yummy, gooey goodness made earlier that day. No one would be fighting. The dogs would be sleeping quietly. Snow would be falling softly outside. And the room would smell of pine and cinnamon and cookies and Christmas. I have not yet achieved that perfect 2 hours, but I wish for it every year. Maybe this will be my year….maybe not. Each year I strive to be a better person. Each year I strive to make Christmas more meaningful in my household and less materialistic. Maybe this year, I can do it. Maybe this year……maybe….

My sock monkey makes me happy

I know that sounds so stupid, but it does make me happy. I’ve only had it about a week now and it’s already brought me some sweet memories, especially this morning. It has perched and watched me do my homework. It has watched TV with me and the kids. But this morning my lovely little Isa tried to take it out of the house, take it to school. I managed to get it away from her and when she realized it, her face fell. I couldn’t stand that look, so I gave in. I let her take it with her. She lit up like she had been given the world. All over a $3 pink sock monkey. I love that it could bring her such joy, I love that she wanted to take care of it and carry it with her. I kind of got the impression that part of the reason she wanted it so badly is because it was mine, it was something of mine she could take with her and I love that feeling. Even if my silly little monkey ends up getting damaged, it was well worth it to watch my little girl hug it with such ferocity.

Memory

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
~T.S. Eliot


I remember you. I remember how soft your voice was and how easily you’d laugh. I remember the sorrow and dreams deep within your eyes. I remember how warm your hand was when it cupped my face for the first time. I remember feeling your energy and even now, the memory of it takes my breath away. I remember the hurt and betrayal on your face when I acted too callously. And I remember how I never forgot. I remember that no matter where life took me, you were on my mind and even after the years had passed, my heart still ached for you. I remember all the moments I never got the spend with you because they threaten to crush me every day. I remember how I couldn’t stop her from crushing your spirit because I wasn’t there and I remember how much that hurts, even now. Don’t think for a moment that I forgot. Don’t think for a second that my anger isn’t fueled by pain. Please don’t forget that I would rather giggle uncomfortably than ease your pain because I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to climb that wall or where to even start bringing it down. I don’t know how to make up for what other people did, or what I did. I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know how to tell you that and I suppose it doesn’t matter because you won’t read this anyway.