vacations...

'Tis the week before Christmas and all through my house not a creature is stirring not even a .... well I'm stirring.  

Me.

The boy and his sweetie arrived yesterday, they are still resting upstairs, I'm sure they are still on West Coast time.  The girl is currently visiting friends.  Hubs is snoring and so are the dogs.

Which leaves me.

And I am wide awake.

I was working on some needlework, but for some strange reason my eyes are blurry today.  Makes following tiny stitches downright impossible.  I woke up a bit sniffly today so I am sure that has something to do with it.

I thought about putting up snowy village, and decided against it, Hubs is snoozing on the sofa a few short feet from where I would be making noise. All my houses are wrapped in heavy layers of crinkly paper to protect them year after year.

I also considered wrapping more gifts.  Just couldn't find my holly jolly needed to start. I spent what felt like hours in the past two days wrapping things. The very thought feels tiring.

Next I considered making my newest batch of soap. It's coffee/peppermint.  I cannot wait to give it a try.  I have the strong coffee frozen in ice cube trays downstairs and plan to use my favorite coffee in it. Again, it's about the noise, my stick blender can be a bit loud as I mix the oils and lye.

I also considered making the candles that are on my list.  I want to wait, the boy expressed interest in doing that together.  I definitely do not want to miss that opportunity!

Instead I'm sitting in my darkened kitchen, listening to Christmas carols softly playing, and writing. I can do that with blurry eyes (wondering if the cat slept close to my head last night), waiting for my family to wake up.

Vacations are for resting and relaxing after all.

I am coming to realize that I spend so much time wired up and ready to go lately, that slowing down and simply resting is tough for me.  My friend wrote recently in her blog about the value of not being busy.  Of simply slowing down.

As I read the lines she'd written, I felt like she was talking straight to me.  Immediately, I felt guilty. I have been rushing through life for about a year and a half now.  It's gone past me.

Sitting here in the softness of the moment, I am realizing she wasn't talking to me, at least not exclusively, so much as to all of us that have gotten caught up in the rush of modern life.  She is an incredible yoga instructor - I still plan to take one of her classes, but as she isn't currently teaching a beginning level class I feel that it won't be any time soon. Heck my life isn't the only thing out of balance.

Yesterday morning Hubs and I were up at 3 am, putting the final touches on the house.  Making sure everything was perfect for the boy!  We'd not met his sweetie and it'd been two years since he'd been home. Last time Hubs had seen him he was still so sick from the staph infection in his leg, unsure he'd ever see him again.

We scurried around getting things done, me getting more stressed by the moment, us starting to growl at each other.  Tired, anxious, striving for perfection as the clock ticked away the moments.  Wanting our home to somehow be the perfect spot for him, welcoming, complete, festive and joy filled.

As you can imagine, the more stressed I got, the worse everything got.  It wasn't until I almost knocked myself unconscious on a small shelf I had built in seventh grade, smashing it and all the treasures that live on it to the ground right alongside me that I stopped.

Okay, sitting on the ground seeing stars is a good reason to stop.  Looking at the damage my hard head had literally caused laying at my feet, I took a moment.

There was no reason to rush.  If everything wasn't perfect, it was just fine.  We would decorate the tree together, like we have done for so many Christmases in his life.  Snowy Village could be put up together.  There were plenty of memories to be made in the small things that I was worried about having completed and perfect.

My boy wasn't coming home to judge my house.  He was coming home to spend the holidays wrapped in the love of family!  Talk about an ah-ha moment, and it only needed me to give myself a huge knot on top of my head.

That moment reminded me to slow down, take a deep breath and relax.  It reminded me that my sweet boy did not grow up in the perfect house and was not coming home looking for perfection.  He was coming home to the perfectly imperfect home he grew up in.

Standing at the airport waiting for the two of them was extreme torture.  I had only seen two pictures ever of his sweetie, the little demon of self doubt was sneaking into my brain.  I mean what if she didn't like me?  What if Hubs and I were not up to her standards. What if we were lacking?

Self-confidence has never come easy for me.  Clutching my hot tea, anxiety, excitement and sheer joy causing tears to threaten in my eyes, I waited.  My baby was getting off that plane! I was so excited to see him.  I vaguely recall seeing her standing beside him, her arm linked tightly in his, her body language echoing my own.  We were both nervous.  But as I held my boy tightly in my arms, enjoying every moment of that hug, wishing it would never end, the world suddenly became okay.

Even if it isn't perfect, it's family.  Even if she doesn't "adore" hubs and I, it doesn't matter.  She adores the boy.  The boy that I nurtured, cherished and raised from conception.  Happiness and love is all I have ever wanted for both of my babies.

Wrapped in the arms of that sweet boy that somehow became a man while I wasn't looking, I knew it was all okay.  He will always been my baby, even as he's become a grown man.

Now it's time to go wake that grown man.  I'm getting hungry for lunch and the day is wasting...