As with most holidays this one has snuck up on me, shocking me with it's imminent arrival. By design I keep things mellow, no big travels, no huge festivities. It ensures I dance around the holiday without ever fully succumbing to it, an art form I've long appreciated over the years.
But M shakes things up with her joyous exuberance over lights and friends stopping by with packages. She squeals over cookies and snowmen in windows. It's infectious, this simple joy. We spent almost two hours in a line of cars last night waiting to drive through a park that's been outfitted with holiday cheer, a wait we hadn't realized until it was much too late. But buoyed by her enthusiasm (and fearing her wrath if we bailed out) we sat and inched forward in the dark singing makeshift carols and groaning periodically about the wait. We finally got inside the park and M was out of her seat and in our laps pointing and screaming while the rest of us smiled at each other in awe of her wonder. When we finally came home she sat down at her table and proclaimed with a grin Mommy, that was the greatest adventure of my life.
And all I could think as my eyes glazed over with tears was how every single day she's the greatest adventure of my life and how honored I am that I get to share it with her.
Happy Holidays, friends. I'll be thinking of you and feeling immensely blessed by the riches your words and friendship have offered me all year long and I'll be looking forward to seeing what trouble we can get into as we continue to move forward together kicking life in the ass and using all of our superpowers for good.