The sugar cookies are made and waiting to be frosted and set out with a glass of milk for St. Nick.
I decided to fore-go the chocolate fudge, but couldn’t resist making peanut butter. It’s setting up in the fridge. Perhaps we will distribute it to neighbors.
The Christmas music is on, and the candles are lit.
We have friends coming over to exchange presents and eat desserts this evening.
White Christmas and Miracle on 34th St. are standing by ready to be watched.
Husband is home, or will be after his watch. Our little Navy family is together for another Christmas. How wonderful!
Piles of presents are wrapped and sitting under the tree. I have giggled with glee so very many times at the fattened underside of our Christmas tree. I can’t wait for all of us to rip into those packages tomorrow morning.
The Christmas meal of lasagna is planned.
The concept of Christmas being Jesus’ birthday has been thoroughly explained.
Everything is set and ready or set and in motion. And I am happy. I don’t have to reach deep down inside to access my joy. It has bubbled to the surface in such a warm and present way in the last two weeks….
But there is this one little thing. It sneaks up at the strangest times. It nags at the corners of my mind. After all this time, it still comes totally unexpectedly in the form of thoughts like, “I need to call….” and “I can’t wait to tell her….”
I want my Mama. I just do. I want my Mama.
It is a Merry Christmas. And she would kick my butt if I didn’t live that up because I was missing her… But part of living it all fully will have to include missing her. Smiling at the memories…. Crying at the missing…. And accepting that in the midst of my spirit fairly dancing at the wonder of the season this year, the missing of Mom will be there still. I feel these things because she loved me so well.
And now that the feeling is felt, and the thought is fleshed out, it’s time to get back to the business of Christmas.
I miss you Mom.