|This little light o’ mine. My latest thrift shop find. Ain’t it grand?|
This morning my eyes popped open at 7:00am on the nose. My brain keeps orderly internal time, though I dunno why, given that I haven’t had a job to wake up for as long as little sister has been with us. I have no one to impress with that little anecdote except you, Reader.
I was surprised to hear Nate stirring in bed next to me, since we usually tag team who gets to sleep in, but he said he was up anyway. Maybe it’s that we’re getting older and somehow are increasingly worse at sleeping in. Or it probably also had something to do with the film crew who were coming at 9:30am to take shots of us eating breakfast.
About that, I’ll tell you what I said to my friend on the phone while I was getting ready: “Let us not speak of it.” It was a volunteer gig, and I’m not sure what will come of it yet if anything. Sufficed to say I am NOT the type who likes to be filmed. Is there a type who does, or do they all just become TV personalities and leave the rest of us to cringe and wish for our Seinfeldian coffin
(That reminds me, did I share this graphic that demonstrates different colloquialisms across the country? Do you say coffin, or casket as Seinfeld does in that video above?)
But as I said, let us not speak of it.
Now I’m back to a quiet house where no one is filming me drink my tea and type. Nate has taken the kids to get me a Christmas present. As they were leaving, I reminded them that we would be walking to town later to take a pony ride, see Santa (he rides a fire truck through town, no joke), and catch the lighting of the town Christmas tree.
Charlie said, in all seriousness, “I hope the pony is a pegasus! Then it would fly all around.” Nate and I both immediately swiveled heads to make eye contact because CUTE. I love how in a three year old’s mind, every moment is filled with the possibility of magic and delight.
I have forgotten what it feels like not to know what’s coming next. It must be something like wondering if you might be next to be called down on the Price is Right. Although that would be a nightmare for me because, like I said, not keen on the whole filming business. But I digress.
|Nate just texted me this pic of them out shopping. Starbucks cookies are a Daddy-only treat. Too rich for my blood.|
Today will also be spent putting ornaments on Tree 2.0. This time we got a balsam fir because the guy swore under oath during my intense line of questioning that it was more likely to live long and prosper in our house. Still, I let it spend two days without lights as I scrutinized it from afar. We hope now it has passed the swan song stage. Fingers crossed, y’all…
Unwrapping the Christmas decorations, lights, and other hoopla has produced a strange new phenomenon in me–like an internal monologue–that has been otherwise absent the rest of the year. When I was relaying this new feature to Nate, I likened it to all the ghosts of Christmas who have come to berate me for things I have not done right, am not doing right, and might not do right tomorrow.
|Took two tries, but I think it looks great now. Best feature of the house.|
I am still mostly able to ignore the voice and carry on, but it does give me pause and wonder if it’s happening now because I’ve got enough Christmases under my belt that somehow I feel I should be better at all this than I am? I don’t really have a better understanding of it than that, but I certainly saw a faint smile of recognition on Nate’s face during our conversation. Do you ever hear this voice?
Worrying about and pondering the future does seem to grow as an element of my personality as I get older. I think it could be that I’ve always held the age 35 as a major milestone somewhere in the back of my mind. Like I thought it was part of the jump-hoops-and-earn-certificate program; i.e. learn to drive at 16, drink at 16 21, rent a car at 25, and be financially stable, done having children, with a distinguished career by 35.
But this time there’s no trophy, and the metrics of measurement are fuzzier, so I’m left wondering if I’ll get where I wanted to go in the next year. Or should I even still hold myself accountable for the things 20-year-old me thought were good to have accomplished by now?
I suppose I should get used to this new more qualitative analysis of my life. I mean, what else is there hoop-wise to jump through? Except of course that I will have a vacation home and hefty retirement savings by the time I’m 50, right? RIGHT?
I think I’ll deal with this new stage the way I deal with everything else uncertain in my life. I’ll pour a glass of wine and whinge with girlfriends and Nate, talk it through until it bores me, and move on. Just don’t film that, okay?
|I grabbed this pic when I was looking at free stock images for a sponsored post I’m writing tomorrow. Cool, huh?|