Don't Tell Santa

They grew up.  They left.  I'm left with the wine I never drank when they were here.  When we were busy.

It hits on days like this.  Decorating the house.  Not a deadline in sight.  It's snowing and we aren't getting all worked up about the places we need to go, because we really do not have anywhere we have to go.  In the old days, there were so many chores of the advent season - cutting and decorating the tree, buying and wrapping the gifts, making and hiding the treats, waiting for my UPS hubby rock to get home.

But now, stumbling upon boxes of remnants of them, cards and decorations they made for me (evidence of our shared history, more valuable than my diamond ring), it's a different work.  It's less about perseverance and more about patient politeness.

We voted against Christmas music today because we could.  Because no one is watching and a little Gaga buoys us more than any carol.  We have all the festive we can stand.  Because the season really is on hold until the kids come home.

Now, before you start, you should know - I've done the reading - I know they are NOT responsible for my merry little Christmas.   I'm gracefully sharing them with new friends because they are all grown up!  The reasons they left me are every parent's dream, I know. Indulge me, it's the holidays.  I'll pass, instead, on the fudge.