Mark napped on Saturday afternoon - the perfect wintery, gray day that begs to be napped in after getting up early to meet the boys for a bike ride and breakfast. I napped Sunday, and while there are gifts to be wrapped and a Christmas card that isn't even ordered (New Years perhaps?) I felt no guilt surrendering to my weariness.
Prior to that, though, I flipped through the channels and found The Family Stone was playing and there went any plans I had for getting anything done. The movie stars Diane Keaton, Sara Jessica Parker, Craig T. Nelson and Dermot Mulroney among many others. It came out nine years ago and Mark and I saw it in the theater. It is the story of a raucous family coming home for Christmas and one of the siblings is gay. He brings home his significant other. That relationship is a very small part of the movie, but it was only a few months after we had found out our own son was gay and so it holds a special place in my heart.
I cried for the normalness of the portrayal of the Stone family and thought "that is us, that is this family." I knew when that movie was over that in time we were going to be just fine and every single time I see it I cry. Last year, Will and I watched it together and he said, "I love this movie, Mom. You remind me a lot of Diane Keaton."
Oh geez, kiddo.
On Saturday night, Mark and I went with some friends to see Wild. It is the book I have talked about most in the last two years since I read it. Prodding, begging and cajoling anyone and everyone to read it. I don't think a single person has taken me up on my recommendation but it doesn't stop me. One of the security guards at work talks about books with me all the time. "Wild," I say. Read it and then we'll talk for hours."
So with just a few days left until Christmas my mind is a confused mess of happy and sad, of loving the people who are with me and missing the ones who aren't. Of being thankful one minute and empty the next. Of overdosing on food and drink and company but mostly wishing to catch a glimpse of the hawk perched on a light pole like I did on another wintry Sunday last year.
Christmas...you do me in.
I am well aware that there is a glut of blogs out there and some really, really good ones at that. Someone I met recently asked me how I make mine stand out. I wish I knew what that secret is. Four years later I keep showing up and muddling through, for it has always been in words that I have sought and found redemption.
Thank you for muddling with me through the light and the dark. Now let's go have ourselves a merry little Christmas.