One year ago we were tucked up in our little cabin in the woods. Which is where we are again. I’m feeding a cheerful fire that will keep us warm in this icy weather and the boys are watching Star Wars for the first time. I will really miss them if they don’t like it.
One year ago Alden got sick here. January 1 at about 4am, to be specific. I hesitated when we made these plans, but that’s ridiculous. It will seem even more ridiculous once we cruise healthfully into the new year. I need to strangle that superstitious association.
I’ve been puttering around, sweeping hearth, wiping down walls, cleaning fruit, scrubbing carpet. I also spent some time hauling a dead tree off the side porch. Storms have whacked down a lot of trees around here and we’re lucky to have gotten away with just a smashed railing and a few crunched steps. I love taking care of this place. It’s both a small service I can do for my Dad and also nesting against all the future years we hope to spend here.
I just had this exchange with Elliot:
E: I am going to punch you in the face if you don’t love me!
J: I do love you.
E: Okay, I not punch you in the face.
I can only hope he refines his technique by prom. He is what my Dad would call a “buster.”
Christmas was great. We spent it in my hometown and luxuriated in lots of time with family and old friends. The boys got an obscene number of toys. My Mom gave them both cash, too, treating me to a new level of middle-class discomfort to see my toddler running around waving a fistful of dollars. Still, it was all to the good and fun for everyone.
My stocking was full. My cup runneth over. I’m awfully grateful that we’re ending this year with everyone accounted for.