Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

Christmas Eve with the MIL was lovely.

Christmas morning with the family was awesome.

Christmas afternoon with my family was great.

Zappa found the Cat; he heard some pitiful howling clear through the walls, went outside, and followed the sound till he found poor Charley Gordon far from the house, wailing like a banshee, trapped in a drift, and held prisoner by the height of the snow. Once rescued, Cat showed his appreciation by a massive scratching frenzy, then going limp in Zappa’s arms and recovering only when dumped on the living room floor. He’s been in the house ever since. That would be HOURS.

Belle went sniffing for poop when we got home but neither smelled nor found any.

I am beginning to suspect that Charley Gordon’s mother was a camel.

There is nothing as wonderful as family. Immediate family, extended family, family-in-name-only, friends we consider family. . . . we are all part of a UNIT, and we share memories that nobody else knows or would understand. The family unit reigns supreme over all over groupings.

I looked at my children and my husband with more than my eyes this morning, as we opened presents in the same way and in the same order, ate the same breakfast we always eat on Christmas morning, disposed of the wadded-up giftwrap the same way we’ve always done (It’s Indiana; basketball rules, here.) As I looked at my kids, my mind flashed back and saw, not two lovely adults in nightware they purchased themselves, but two precious tiny children, in new pajamas purchased by Santa, their eyes alight with belief in fairies and elves and Santa and his reindeer. It seems impossible that those days are past. How could those days possibly be gone?

I can’t remember the last time we left cookies and milk for Santa. I remember many times, but not the last. I’ve posted about this subject before, but Christmas brings it to my mind again.

Oh parents, create worlds of fantasy for your children, at Christmas and whenever else you possibly can. It stretches their imaginations, and enables them to dwell in worlds far more wonderful than the real world. Listen when they tell you about it. Reality has many definitions; the reality of the adult world is only one of countless others. Ours is NOT better than theirs. But ours is better than it would have been, had it not been for theirs.

I firmly believe that adults who used to dwell in the realms of fantasy, have an easier time dealing with some of the drab realities of life. And that adults who still peep behind the curtain of fantasy deal best of all.

Last night, we reminisced about my kids’ childhood Christmases, and got the MIL’s perception. She added much to our collective memories.

This morning, we added more, all on our own.

This afternoon, we added even more, from the point of view of the other side of the family.

Other people’s memories of my children, enriched my own memories. My mental stockpile of data about my children’s lives gets bigger with every reunion. Their stories and memories, plus mine, equaled more. And you can’t have too many good memories of your children. It still makes me feel funny that other people, even relatives, know things about my tiny children that I don’t know. But after last night and today, I know a few more.

I love my family. All of them. I love Hub’s family, too. At Christmas, that love is multiplied a thousand-fold. Sometimes I think I will burst from sheer love of my beautiful family.

I love watching them open their gifts. As adults, they are able to be appreciative and enthusiastic even when they aren’t. When they were children, it was easier to tell when they really liked a present or not. Sometimes, I miss that blatant honesty. Not always, but sometimes.

I miss buying Spiderman underpants for Zappa; he favors silk boxers these days. I know this only because I sometimes do his laundry for him when he comes home. I’ve never mentioned it, for which fact I’m sure he is grateful, but I’m not blind, and I know dude underpants when I see them.

I miss buying Strawberry Shortcake underoos for Belle. I’d describe her underwear for you all but she reads this blog and I don’t want her to see the word “lingerie” used in reference to her.

See, honey? Mommy didn’t tell anybody about all that lace.

The only toys this year were thumb drives. I don’t even know for sure what those are. Good thing for me that Amazon knew. Gift cards. Perfume. Cold-weather socks.

No self-respecting child would stand for it.

But my children are not children any more. They are adults, and they’ve done a darn good job of it.

I sure miss those sweet dollies and action figures, though.

Christmas will be over, officially, in about an hour and a half. But only if you let it be over.

I hope you all are having a wonderful day. I hope you are all making memories.

Merry Christmas.