Some nights, Jack and I sleep in the same bed, barely touching, except maybe to try to roll one another over to stop the snoring. But other nights, we sleep wrapped up in each other. My head on his shoulder, his arm around my waist. Shift. Spooning together, his breath against my neck. Shift. My leg thrown over his, our bare feet rubbing against each other. Not passionate; affectionate. Comfortable and connected and warm. Sometimes too warm. He’s like a furnace and I need to roll away, but as I pull my body from his, I reach my foot back. We sleep with our feet touching, just to remind each other that we’re still connected.
We slept like that last night, and I woke up this morning feeling particularly calm and grateful.
It’s my favorite time of day. I can see the pink of the sunrise peeking through the high windows in the front door. Everyone is still asleep, and my coffee is rich and warm. I’m wearing my softest tank top and comfy pants, and I’m still warm from the weight of my husband’s arm around my waist as I scooted out of bed.
We put up the Christmas tree yesterday. It’s glowing in the corner, and I’m feeling particularly accomplished because there are already gifts underneath it, wrapped and ready to go. This is the first year that nobody believes in Santa, and while it’s a little sad and hard to let go, it’s also nice not to worry about which wrapping paper only Santa can use. Cal is getting a kick out of BEING Santa, and I’m loving the fact that I no longer have to remember to move the elf.
Now that they’re into the spirit of being Santa, I finally took the kids Black Friday shopping for the first time this year. I don’t love to shop, but they wanted to go, and since I’ve been avoiding it for basically their entire lives, I decided to let them give it a try. We live in the suburbs, three minutes from the nearest Target. We got up around 6:30 and got there at 7, and while it was busy, it didn’t feel crazy. It was like a Holiday Saturday at noon. Not slow, but not unbearably packed.
We actually had fun. The kids picked out gifts for each other, so nothing’s a secret, but they all left knowing that they’ll have something they love under the tree on Christmas. They gave me gift ideas and they had me smell candles to choose my favorite scent. Bea and I sipped coffee while we browsed and chatted about unimportant things. It was lovely.
Last night, we ate soup and grilled cheese around the dining room table and talked about our plans for the weekend. We teased and laughed and connected, and it didn’t require a fancy meal or hours of prep work. And after dinner, while nobody admitted to wanting to watch Frozen, they all stopped by in the living room at intervals to sit with us while we watched, which felt just right.
They’re growing up and I’ve been worried about it. I’ve been missing my babies. I keep pushing for family time that they don’t want and activities that don’t interest them because I miss the connection I feel when we do things all together. But maybe I need to listen more and push less. Maybe I need to get better at making appealing invitations instead of whiny demands. Maybe I need to shift the expectations a bit.
This whole parenting thing is an experiment. Some days hold success; others, failure. But there’s a lesson in every one. When I can step back, I realize that this is the best-case scenario. My kids are pulling away, little by little. They’re growing up. That’s good. That’s just as it should be. Jack and I are still reaching toward each other. That’s amazing. That’s a blessing. And we’re all still here, under one roof, for a little while longer. Clashing and connecting and arguing and laughing and loving each other the best way we know how.
Today, I choose to be grateful for that.