The Christmas cards are in the mail. Having forgotten to take the annual picture with Santa hats when they were both home for Thanksgiving and my mother's funeral, we succumbed to two old photos of the boys, one on the campus of the older son, the other picture at the ages of 2 and 3 at a Christmas parade and looking adorable. Because they are photo cards, and because we are out of time, there are no personal greetings on any of them. We just shoved them in envelopes. I hope people understand that while I was addressing the envelopes they were on my mind and in my heart.
The tree is decorated, and I snipped the long, left-leaning branch that made the angel on top look tipsy. One more ornament and I swear it will hit the floor. Presents are another story. I have a long way to go on that one, but I'm not in a panic yet. During a let up in the rain yesterday I got my sad three strings of lights on the front porch and covered the entry with fake greens. A bow or two, and it will be done enough for my taste. It helps a lot to disdain Martha Stewart's standards.
Most importantly, we will pick up our older son at school tonight and bring him home tomorrow. He was up all night long writing one of three papers that he left until the absolute last minute. I would scold severely, but I have a vague memory of sitting at the kitchen table until six in the morning and then taking a shower before taking the subway to school. I guess he doesn't get it from the wind. Son Number Two arrives on a plane on Friday night and then I will be ready to really celebrate. This year Christmas is all about being together.
The tree is decorated, and I snipped the long, left-leaning branch that made the angel on top look tipsy. One more ornament and I swear it will hit the floor. Presents are another story. I have a long way to go on that one, but I'm not in a panic yet. During a let up in the rain yesterday I got my sad three strings of lights on the front porch and covered the entry with fake greens. A bow or two, and it will be done enough for my taste. It helps a lot to disdain Martha Stewart's standards.
Most importantly, we will pick up our older son at school tonight and bring him home tomorrow. He was up all night long writing one of three papers that he left until the absolute last minute. I would scold severely, but I have a vague memory of sitting at the kitchen table until six in the morning and then taking a shower before taking the subway to school. I guess he doesn't get it from the wind. Son Number Two arrives on a plane on Friday night and then I will be ready to really celebrate. This year Christmas is all about being together.
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