It is 7:02 AM on Christmas Eve and I am sitting alone in the kitchen. The Christmas Tree is lit, the kitchen holiday lights are on. Yesterday's very heavy, very wet snow is practically melted away although from the color of the sky this will be rectified. If you have ever lived where it snows you know the color I mean – that grey white color which blends perfectly into any existing snow giving the impression that we are just a giant snow globe covered up in a heavy blanket of white.
The weatherpeople have promised a white Christmas here on the Coast of Illinois.
I am holding them at their word.
I want a snow covered Christmas.
I know people are traveling and weather can be dangerous. My parents are getting older and are just waiting to take a nice slide on a patch of ice. I don't even have the required fixings for French Toast. But I don't care.
Its Christmas and I want a blanket of snow.
Why this sudden selfishness?
Well. This is the first year my little family won't be all together on Christmas. Our girl is off to spend the holiday with her special person. And that's okay. We love him like family. His parents are delightful and I know his mom will take good care of 'our' girl. Plus we got him for Thanksgiving...
I keep telling myself its okay that she is away. I remember very well that first Christmas I spent with Rob's family. It was different, and slightly weird but wonderful all the same because he was the person I wanted to be with.
And that's how it should be.
We raise our children to become self sufficient adults and want nothing more than for them to be happy.
And really, that's the best Christmas present I could ever hope for.
I would like to leave you all with a paraphrased quote from musician Peter Mayer, spoken during his Stars and Promises concert earlier this week:
Home is where you go to find peace, love, joy, hope.
May each of you be that place...
the Coast of Illinois
Happy holidays to you, too. When a tradition ends, another begins, and this will hopefully lead to more future happiness.ReplyDelete