Nothing says Christmas like fall's leaves on the ground, right?
Mr. Moon just this second said, "I don't remember the yard ever looking like this. It's beautiful."
I don't remember either but that doesn't mean a thing. I don't remember shit.
Overslept this morning. I was having a dream that involved all the biggies:
2. Late for class and I had no idea what class or where it was and I LOST MY NOTEBOOK!
3. Late for picking up the kids and their school was across the water somehow which would involve a golf cart AND a boat to go get them.
4. And who was taking care of that baby that was just birthed while the mama (not me) picked up HER kids across the water?
Yeah, yeah. It's Christmas Eve.
What did I get done yesterday? Well, it took me all day to make a quilt that ended up looking like a deranged child made. All day.
I boiled my chicken for the chicken salad.
I made the worst pot of split pea soup ever made on the planet.
I finished wrapping the presents.
And Owen will be here in less than an hour and then Mean Aunt Jessie is coming and I haven't seen her in weeks. Literally. She got back from Boulder, hopped in the car and drove to Gator Bone with her Cicada Ladies where they recorded for a day and then drove back and finally I will get to get my arms around that child.
And then the rest of the kids will show up, the dogs will bark, we'll make the pizza and hang the stockings and play games and there will be chaos.
"Mama, can I use some wrapping paper?"
"Mama, where are the scissors?"
"Mama, can I do a load of laundry?"
"Mama, I think the pizza's burning!"
And it will be beautiful.
Am I ready?
As ready as I'm going to get.
Mr. Moon wants oatmeal.
The world wants peace. We all want love. The chickens want scratch.
And me? What do I want?
Nothing. I have it all. And tonight I'll go to bed knowing that my babies are going to be sleeping under one roof and having their own crazy dreams and the sun is rising up over the long moss-draped branches of the oaks and the Bradford Pears are decorating the sky and the ground and the birds are coming in to the feeder and Waylon's quilt will be warm, even if it looks like a deranged child made it.
And I will restrain myself from speaking of that thing going around the interwebs where the entire birth of Jesus is on Facebook and Joseph takes the time to post:
IT'S A BOY!
MARY WAS AMAZING!
I'll just say this:
Stop it, people.
Go bake some cookies. Go play with a real baby. Go find your Jimmy Buffet Christmas album. Go hug your sweeties.
Happy Christmas Eve Day, y'all.