This perfect moment

It's crunch time, here. I've been so bloody wiped out these last few months. It seems like I'm tired all the time. Things end up waiting to get done, and decorating and gift wrapping has been no exception.

I guilt so badly when I don't manage the Norman Rockwell thing. I long to give my family boughs of holly and red ribbons on the stair railings. I want wreaths and candles and huge sparkling holiday trees. I want them to wake up that morning to cinnamon buns, eggs and bacon.

All the magazines tell me not to feel bad if I don't make it perfect. They say to give myself a break. But giving myself a break is not one of my strong points. I rake myself over the coals mercilessly, probably because I feel, deep down, that if I don't right every wrong of my own childhood, then I am a shit mother. I feel, even though I know it is silly, that I have to give them everything. Everything I didn't have, everything I want for them.

So, here I am, the day before my ex-husband shows up to stay over a couple of days with our family. God bless my husband for understanding and being nice to him. God bless him for so many things. My husband and I have finally grown into our marriage, or maybe grown up into it. I am so grateful for him and I love him so.

I'm up late taking a break from bending over gift wrap. My back aches. Being crunch time, always at my best under pressure, I'm ready to spend the rest of the night finishing the wrapping and sorting the stocking stuffers. I bought a tiny little tree this year, only three feet tall, because it was cute and pitiful and when the kids wake up tomorrow morning, stockings will be hung (though empty till the next morning) and the little tiny tree will be sparkling best it can.

And, god help me, I am even stringing apples and tangerines with ribbon and cloves to hang about and smell the place up.

That's me, tonight. Life can be shit, you know that? It's harder than I want it to be and I am so tired. There's a lot to worry about. Futures to obsess about. There's an awful lot of stress here at Chez Transient.

But there is peace, too. There is comfort and quiet strength. For all our faultlines, we are a family. We're a strong unit and we have love and hugs and secret smiles about the gifts we are making or giving. No one feels unloved. I tuck the kids in, they smile and tell me they love me and every single night I lay down, tuck myself into my husband and he is there, warm, and he wraps his arm around me without even waking up.

In this moment, gift wrap laying in shreds around me, husband snoring behind me, wind blowing outside, I know life can be shit. I am tired. But I am so peaceful, too. In this single moment, with my family sleeping and warm, I am so happy. And I wish the feeling of this single, perfect moment for everyone out there.