Merry Christmas To Those Who Partake

A condensed version of a Facebook exchange with a beloved cousin from Texas who was lamenting her lack of Christmas decorating, which was a single 6" tree:

Cousin: This is the extent of my indoor decorations.

Me: What more do you need? That's kinda been the question all year.

Cousin: Isn’t that the truth? You really reassess what’s important to you. You just go from moment to moment treasuring the gems you find along the way.

Me: Or you close the front door, put down your mask and say "f*** you!", as I did this morning.

[then I deleted that comment]

Yes, today is a day of deleted comments. Like many other folks, I have been so exhausted by its many jobs, and Christmas is a day that is definitely for other people. This morning I woke up, thought it was Monday and that I was going to work, and I was sad when I realized instead that it was Christmas. Anyhoo

After going to mom's yesterday, delivering Christmas dinner, presents for the caregivers, cards for the wellness team, some groceries and a smile, I was met with a grumbling ungrateful crone who wanted to come home with me even though she knows that can't happen. Oh well. At least she didn't really want to see me for long, so I was back on my way having spent the entire day for this excellent moment with cranky mom.

Back at home, mrguy had developed a migraine, and he was in bed when I back. I made us some freezer macaroni and cheese and frozen peas. Fell asleep on the sofa, then went to bed.

This morning we planned a reset. We'd drink coffee together in the living room and enjoy our mostly tree-less view, then have pancakes I'd made with our leftover pumpkin pie filling from Thanksgiving. 

9:40: I get a call that Mom is upset and needs nephew's phone number

Then I turned off my ringer, which was a privilege I felt I'd earned

11:30, 11:32: I missed two calls and two voicemails warning me that mom wants to visit. They're on their way.

We sit down to breakfast. They pull up outside as we finish the last of our pancakes. I go out to head them off at the pass.

"Are you telling me that you're not letting us in?"

"That's right. Sorry." I laugh it off. 

"It's not funny. You may think it's funny, but I don't think it's funny. I don't have anything [by which she means COVID]."

At this point the conversation is much like every other recent one and I try to stay jovial and kind but I'm not really listening. She's ticked off and it's mainly a string of barbs and her own greatest hits of disgruntlement, delivered in a tone of voice that is intended to wound me. Her caregiver kindly told her that she'd already explained beforehand that I wasn't going to let her in my house. Mom says that she's leaving. Oh darn.

So we go back in the house and recap the fact that my mom is an endless black hole of need. True dat, mrguy!

2:10: Mom calls again, twice. I don't pick up. 

2:52: Caregiver sends me a text and asks me to call. Mom wants to apologize. We talk.

A condensed version of this morning lets me put a bright face on it for those who enjoy Christmas. Responding to their cheery holiday thread, I send the family a photo of our Covid tree and the rainy window.

"mrguy and I are in the living room, and this is our current view. Enjoying the rain, which is delightful.

Had an unexpected visit from mom this morning. She was wearing an ADORABLE new Christmas sweater from her caregiver, and they were wearing matching light up necklaces with snowfolk and teensy Christmas lights.

That’s all from here!

Hope your day is cozy."

mrguy's sleeping away the rest of his migraine next to me on the sofa, with his special boy cat asleep on his legs. It's the 30th anniversary of our first kiss. Both parts of the day are what love looks like, but this part's better.