He looked lost- Which wasn't hard to understand given the greater picture...The installation of the new TV to the new HD box and pre-existing surround-sound system.
This is what I like best about the holidays- the chance to slow down long enough to watch and enjoy the world around me, in particular, my boys.
And to see how my family sees me-
The sweatshirt I am wearing seems to reappear every Christmas. The boys were in preschool. The teachers pulled the children out into the hallway, dipped their hands in green paint and made wreaths out of their hand prints. I remember opening their package on Christmas morning, pulling out the sweatshirt and crying.
The next year- another sweatshirt. This time their feet formed a moose head and their hand prints were the antlers. And I cried, touched by the little, carefully preserved bits of their rapidly passing childhoods.
Every year I pull the sweatshirts out and wear them. I point to the images emblazoned across my chest proudly, mushy with my soupy-mama love and memories of the sweet scent of boy hugs and kisses. The objects of my affection roll their eyes in mock, or maybe real, horror. The girlfriend smiles indulgently and exchanges a knowing glance with the boys.
It is an all too familiar ritual- sappy mothers mooning over their grown children during the holiday season.
The Unnamed Ones take it in stride, as they do most everything these days.
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