A late launch is better than no launch

I finished decorating my two trees about a half hour ago.  I know Christmas Eve is in a week.  I’d have five or seven trees if I had more time, believe me, so the fact I got two trees fully dressed makes me happy.  The fact one of them was all sparkly and glowing, waiting only for Boy Wonder’s placement of the pinnacle star when he got home from college finals just yesterday evening… well, that makes me even happier.  I have no idea what effect it may or may not have on him.  All he said was, “Why is this tree still not decorated?” about the one on the porch.

I still have lots to do.  I’m not doing much buying; I simply don’t anymore now that the kids are all legal adults.  Still, I have a bit of shopping.  (And it’s not last-minute until Christmas Eve.)

I have candy-making to do!  Hordes of it, hopefully.  Stacks of English toffee, and orbs of drunken apricots.  I may even try my hand this year at cherry cordials in cream.  I think I’ll repeat Christmas Granola.It ain’t low-fat or low-calorie but it is delish!  Biscotti?  Indubitably!  Swedish tea cakes?  You bet your buttah!  Dipped and dazzled and strewn chocolate edibles I haven’t yet dreamed up?  Of course!  I’m counting on a flourish of creative energy.  And enough time to squeeze it all in.

Christmas Dinner menu?  Still a blurry idea of crown pork-roast with corn bread stuffing and such.  Perhaps poultry with a wild rice stuffing.  We shall see.  It’ll be a bit of a feast.  I’m certain of that.  It’ll be quieter than I prefer.

ManBoy will spend his Christmas in a tent in the Afghanistan desert.  Hopefully they will feed him well.  He’s surrounded by people who would literally give their lives for him and yet, I know there’s no substitute for being home, surrounded by his flesh and blood.  (He cares about my food, and the sweets, and the decor.  He loves his mama, this I know.)  And he will still enjoy all of that when he returns in early January.  That’s the primary reason I took the tree in the living room out of the stand yesterday before lacing it with lights: I had to be sure the vascular system wasn’t clogged with sap; it has to last beautifully until mid-January, the latest we could see him home.

The Girl, newly married… not making the trip home for the holidays.  She’s twelve hours away and at times like this, it might as well be half a world away.  Hopefully they’ll come up when her brother returns from the war.  She’s repeating some of her favorite traditions right there in Oklahoma.  And I will sorely miss her.

It occurred to me today while flocking the final boughs, it will be colder in January when I take the porch tree down.  For sure, there will be needles everywhere. (It was cold enough out on the screen porch today when it’s unseasonably warm and we have yet to see snow blanket the ground.)  That’s enough ornaments, I told myself. The rest came inside where they tumbled in a festive jumble, catching light through a crystal bowl.

It’s the first Christmas in this ancient rental I moved into just as BoyWonder was starting fall semester.  (Read about that here.  And about his first return after six weeks.  Nice.)  Now his return feels almost routine.  The other bedroom is clearly his.  He brought five boxes of things home for the nearly-month-long break.  I texted while he traveled “I’m so excited u r coming home!”  He said, “I’ll be working a lot.  Don’t get too excited!”

His mustache is thicker and his hair is longer under that furry flapped hat.  He doesn’t care about the sweets I might produce for Christmas gifts.  He doesn’t care about the cookies I’ll bake.  He expects the house to be decorated, but he probably doesn’t care so much about that either.  He cares about pond hockey, his friends, his bed, and the relatively expansive space in his room.  He cares about a break from studying.  He cares about the money I’ll give him and the gifts he’ll get, hopefully lots of money he will take shopping with us on December 26th.  At least I hope I still get to do the after-Christmas shopping trek with him.  It has become a bit of a tradition.  (I like that one better than Black Friday.)

I understand these things, and I don’t expect a whole lot more than the sweet rhythm of his breathing, the comfort of knowing my bear cub has returned to the den for some holiday hibernating, and the pleasure of occasionally getting to stand next to him, fit nicely under his arm-pit, and lace my limbs all the way around him in a squeeze.  I won’t get much of anything in the way of gifts for Christmas, I’m sure.  But I don’t need anything more than that.

 

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