Yesterday afternoon I turned on my out of office email indicating I wouldn't be back in the office until January 3rd, two thousand SEVENTEEN, and then I practically skipped to my car with glee.
I had big plans for my first day of Christmas vacation, including but not limited to sleeping late and staying in my pajamas until noon. And then I woke up at 5:30 when Matt got up for work and could not go back to sleep. It's now 7:30 and I've already wrapped two presents, made a meal plan and grocery list for the entire month of January, cleaned two bathrooms, and emptied the dishwasher.
I need a vacation from my vacation.
Speaking of the dishwasher, as I was putting the detergent in last night, Matt said, "If there's any extra room in there, would I be able to put the chickens' water trough in?"
God love him for asking, but that answer will always be no.
Now I'm sitting on the couch with a
second third cup of coffee, and just finished reading a sweet little story in a Christmas short story collection.
One of my most vivid Christmas memories from childhood is sitting on a brown and gold striped love seat that was passed down from my great-grandmother. The love seat was typically in our living room, but because of the Christmas tree, it was in the dining room. I was drinking a cup of tea (which was probably mostly just a cup of cream and sugar, much like my coffee is right now), and reading Sleigh Bells for Windy Foot. I remember Christmas music playing and my parents bustling around to get the house just perfect for the holiday. I couldn't tell you what presents I got that year, but I sure do have that memory.
Sitting on the couch this morning, with my blanket and my coffee and my book and my Christmas carols feels very similar. Except I'm about 20 years too old for Sleigh Bells for Windy Foot.
This whole week has been full of holiday cheer.
On Friday night, my friend Michelle got engaged. Michelle and I lived together in college and for a few years after college, and often joked that we were hesitant to get married because we were afraid we wouldn't have as much fun living with our actual husbands as we did we each other.
Three years in and I can report back that, thank goodness, we had nothing to worry about.
Michelle is the one person in the world I know I can call and say "Tell me if I'm being unreasonable/dramatic/overreacting," and then tell her my current situational dilemma, and she will never, ever, EVER say I'm being unreasonable/dramatic/overreacting. She will always side with me. Even when I look back and think, "Hmm. I might possibly have been a wee little bit dramatic," in the moment, I know Michelle will be on my side. She also shares my love of Cher, Shark Tank, and a witty play on words.
On Saturday my uncle had a Christmas party, and then on Sunday I had two friends over in the afternoon. When I started my job five years ago, I instantly became friends with two of my coworkers. We don't spend 40 hours a week together anymore, because now one is a lawyer and one is a mom, but on Sunday we ate cake and cookies and drank coffee and while I'm grateful for many things my job has given me, those friendships top the list.
Around 4:30, we heard sirens blaring. We looked out the window, and Santa was riding by on a fire truck. My friend Rose opened the door and ran after him. Santa has a bit of a lead foot, but we finally caught up with him about three blocks away, and as we approached the fire truck we asked for a photo.
Santa said, "Sure, should we wait for the kids?"
Um, no kids. Just us late twenties ladies in hot pursuit of a photo opp and a free candy cane.