Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Dragging My Feet

So my school semester just ended yesterday. C still has some final papers and finals to contend with, so there will still be a lot of grading time in the next two weeks. Meanwhile, C put lights on the house, and I managed to scramble together the advent calendar for Wiggle, but that is really the extent of our holiday  planning.

I don't know know why I insist on going back to school because when my life is ruled by the semester, I quite literally shut down by the end of it. This last week, with a final paper hanging over my head, I have slept and lain in bed staring at the ceiling for more hours than I care to count. I felt paralyzed. The paper plus the regular holiday stuff was just too much to think about, so I didn't: I didn't think about anything. Of course, there were mitigating circumstances - Wiggle was down with a vague virus last week that had him feverish and out-of-sorts for four days. I have been coming down with a head cold which adds to my general fogginess. And of course, Buster spends most of the day trying to find new ways to put himself in danger. Hey, this is life, right? I hate to sound morose, because that is not my general feeling, but sometimes, at the end of the day, with the prospect of more to do tomorrow, I can't help but slide down a little bit.

The terrible thing is - I LOVE the holidays. I love the lights, the tree, Santa, gift-giving, gift-receiving, cookies, fires, family, etc. I am a sentimentalist by nature, so the traditions are things I look forward to, even the smallest, most miniscule one. I don't even mind the Christmas music in every store. I love everything about Christmas. Except that Christmas and all of the traditions are about family, and while I'm happy to both continue the traditions of yore and start our own family traditions with the boys, I miss MY family - my family of origin, the place I learned to love these traditions I am carrying on.

Now, let me be clear. When I go home, I am not a child. I do not still get a stocking from Santa, my mom doesn't do my laundry, I cannot spend all day in my pajamas, but I don't want any of those things. I just want people around me who share my history, or who share A history. It's a little lonely starting your own history, especially when you remember fondly the history that is already past.

So overall, the holidays are a mixed bag for me. I miss the traditions of yore, while holding onto them and wishing they were all the traditions I was passing on.

Of course, the boys don't know anything about the history of a tradition. They just know whether we do something or not; so I try to do as much as I can muster. That is the duty of a parent.

I should have pictures; that is my duty. But I have only a few, far fewer than is my public obligation.

Who doesn't wear seersucker to Thanksgiving? 
Can I offer you something?
I like to  carve.
And preside over the table...
Ahhhh! Refreshing lemonade.
Two boys in the bath.
This is my Christmas tree.
Santa eats soft-boiled eggs.
And I always wear blazers to bed, don't you?
The Incredible Hulk.

Sunday, December 2, 2012


Last night we were treated to a rare sighting of the fleece-footed owl. I was lucky to take a quick pic before he came right over to where I was and alit on the couch next to me. This was an even rarer sighting because fleece-footed owls are NOT SUPPOSED to be nocturnal. Lucky me?