When a certain toddler continues to give it the same nonjudgmental attention, though, it seems less haggard, less intrusive, and more lovely.
Joy and Christmas cheer shouldn't end at midnight, though I've insisted it halt in years past. My December 25th this year was spent in a sleep-deprived, immune-system-hijacked, sugar-crashed fog--chasing Finley from one present to the next, makeup-less and weak-kneed.
Today I awoke from another sleepless night, filled with the gratitude I should have felt yesterday. I watched my sweet daughter play with her new brood of toys, all lovingly chosen for her by family and friends who adore her. She and I watched The Sword in the Stone, locking eyes every three minutes for an exchange of squinty-eyed smiles and delighted snorts.
The things I have planned for 2011 are filling me with the same excitement I felt the night before Finley was born--on edge, thrilled, delightfully secretive.
I wish I could say specifically, but these plans involve:
A new song about Lady Godiva
Medusa's head and my wrist
Levers, pullies, and muscles
Philosophy taught by a beret-wearing professor
An underground organization run by a maniacal ballerina
Funky dish-shopping at D.I.
Christmas 2010 brought in a haul of carefully chosen presents that suit me: among other things, Michael Moore movies on DVD, a book about how corpses decay, a new man-watch, an array of gift cards (so thoughtful!), and plenty of things for Finley.
Christmas this year gave me a glimpse of many Christmases to come. I am excited.
