I can't tell you how many first sentences I have written and deleted in the past couple days. "So here's the thing," I'd start, then be unable to put the thing into words.
Other times I'd try skipping the pointless preamble and just say it, but then would be irritated by the unpoetic obviousness: the well-duh-ness of it.
Then I'd think that I didn't really want to publish anything that might bum people out right before Christmas ANYWAY, so maybe I'll just go do something else until a different, funnier topic occurred to me. And yes, the Star Wars snowflakes were Exhibit A of "doing something else", along with baking. So much baking. I don't even particularly love baking, but I did it anyway. Batch after batch of cookies, until I finally up and ran out of sugar yesterday.
So it's either finally sit down and post something or vaccuum.
We're hosting Christmas this year, for the first time ever. This is not the thing, of course, because I'm happy to do it. We bought this particular house with holiday hosting in mind -- albeit that was waaaay back before we went and filled every bedroom with wall-to-wall children and reached a toy-and-baby-gear occupancy level that also is approaching deadly stadium crush levels. I knew my mom wouldn't be able to host Christmas much longer so I figured we could step up and take over at some point.
That point is now. You know, because my dad's dead.
Aaaand: Pall. Cast.
And also, I know, right? Holidays are hard after you lose someone! Especially the first holiday! Because that person won't be there and they were an important part of the emotional fabric of that holiday and so the reality of your loss gets to punch you in the chest a little bit more than usual. My goodness, Amy, that's quite an astute observation there. Has science been notified of your shocking findings?
My children are beside themselves with excitement. Presents! Santa! Cookies! Nana and aunts and uncles and COUSINS TO PLAY WITH! Despite family-wide agreements to not go overboard with the presents, the floor-to-almost-ceiling stack of Amazon boxes in my bedroom suggest that we all pretty much failed spectacularly at not overcompensating and buying our feelings or anything. I'm actually massively relieved that the only traveling expected of us is a couple trips to the train station, and am super excited about Christmas morning and Christmas dinner and omg, the toy parking garage we bought for Ezra is going to MELT HIS FACE OFF.
And it's Ike's first Christmas! Probably the last "first Christmas" we'll have with a baby. I bought them all ridiculous coordinating Christmas pajamas and I'm going to let them all eat cookies all damn day and watch A Christmas Story 14 times in a row while building Lego sets and it will all be so wonderful, I just know it.
And yet, oh. I just wish he was here too.