Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve, and I know that on Monday my mother will be going into a nursing home. Today I will dedicate to working as cheerfully as possibly on making Christmas good, and full of poetry and music and good things to eat for tomorrow. And I will ignore that I spent from twelve till four in bed with the unrestful girls, and drink a lot of completely horrible instant espresso, and pretend that my toddlers aren't competing for the title of The World's Whiniest Toddler as I bake fruitcake and thaw the bread for stuffing and chop things and make chili for tonight.


2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I remember my Mother, on such nights putting up with my horrible whiney butt. Hun, you are doing so well. You are fully validated in all you feel, and I know deep within that you can pull this off. Patience my friend and comfort in past memories full of happiness. Hugs from your friendly neigbourhood Sheba. Happy Humbug!

Anonymous said...

Oh Lissla, hugs from far away. I wish there were more I could say or that I were close enough to bring dinner over.
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