So this is Christmas

On Christmas Eve, instead of making dinner, I was riding in a car heading south. The Girl, her dad, and I were bringing Christmas to the Boy, who couldn’t make the trip home.

Twenty or so years ago, when I was a young mom, I made a unilateral decision. Come hell or high snowdrifts, our family of four would always stay home at Christmas. Back then, we lived far enough away from extended family that traveling to visit anyone would have meant packing up the car with bulging suitcases, all the gifts, and two small children who were probably minutes away from catching a cold (or worse) and then staying overnight. To this mom, it sounded like more work than fun. Besides, I’d explain to anyone who asked, it was really important to me that my babies wake up in their own beds on Christmas morning.

I got my way, and we stayed home. For over twenty Christmases, actually. Sadly, once your “kids” are contributing to their own retirement funds, it is a lot harder to make excuses about Santa. People just don’t buy it. At that point, you pretty much just sound like a nut. And so, we made plans for Christmas in the Twin Cities, packed the car with gifts and enough fudge and cookies to give everyone we’re related to a major sugar rush, and took off.

Life is short. Blink, and you’ll miss it. Kids grow up and build their adult lives. Extended families expand and contract. Grandparents become more frail with each year that passes.

So it was time.  And it was good.

And it was Christmas.