it came, sort of

Santa paid us a visit, and Daniel was excited about finding a new bicycle in the living room. The rest of us just seemed to be hacking and coughing our way through the 'let's see what Santa brought' ritual dispiritedly. Ellie seemed more excited about morning nursing and cuddling up to me than any presents. She finally got enthusiastic about opening presents only hours after theirs had already been ripped into, and was openly reproachful when we discouraged her from opening the ones we'd bought for other people.

But they're here, her eyes seemed to say.

Chocolate has been consumed by all, as Santa left quite a handsome variety. Lots of movies have been watched, naps have been gotten by all, and I'm making my way quite nicely through an Egan omnibus that tuftears recommended.

But it still doesn't feel like Christmas.

Christmas means running around to four sets of grandparents, dealing in chaos in a way that only Dave (the only adult person to ever experience the whole phenomenon with me) really knows. It's parcelling time out to two parents and stepparents in a manner similar to brokering a treaty between hostile nations. It's weighing the political ramifications of where to eat 'dinner' (aka the noontime meal), ending up eating two of said dinners, usually. (Though we can usually manage only one at the same time as one of the whole families.)

Christmas is spending Christmas Eve up assembling things for my half-brothers with my dad. It's watching the wrapping paper fly and eating lots of good food, two noontime dinners, and one evening one.

Did I mention the eating? ;-)

Christmas is seeing family that I don't see any other time of year, and being amazed at how connected I feel to them. Christmas is hearing my grandfather's cadence in my cousin's voice. It's being one-of-us in a way that I don't usually feel, even though it's rushing around to being one of several different and mutually exclusive 'us'es.

Now my mom's parents have died. My dad's family (of which my grandmother is the only surviving grandparent) now gathers before Christmas (and we missed that get-together as well, thanks to the flu.) Our plans to spend today with each set of step-grandparents have changed.

It's a quiet day at home. And apart from the full stockings and the bike in the living room, it really doesn't feel like Christmas.

It's not bad nonetheless, although I'll be happy once we've seen the last of this flu. Once we're done coughing and wheezing and sniffling and back to our normal state of physical health.

I wish there were something I could say, do, feel, that's more in keeping with the season. More in line with what I used to feel on this day of holy days. But I have to think that there will be other years for that, other times.

Joy is not gift-wrapped vacuum-packed open-only-on-December-25th. Joy, or the potential for it, is year round.

A+