Falalalala

Christmas is over. The children and their friends are gone. I am sitting in an empty house, staring at the dry, droopy Christmas tree. Before Christmas, when I was picking it out and putting it up, I felt fondly about it. Now it represents work. I am ready to toss it out on the curb. It's a fire hazard. I no longer look at it with nostalgia.

The decorations must go back in their boxes. I'm finished with them.

There is a sense of sadness that it is over. There is also a sense of "on to the next thing."

I try to forget the fits of anger and disappointment, and I focus on the good, happy times. I will long remember our breakfast together when we laughed and traded stories. That is, after all, what makes Christmas special.

I like that they still get excited about Christmas stockings. They still like to amass a pile of presents and rummage through them with excitement.

Christmas is over. Time to move on.

Valentine's Day anyone?

All Grown Up, But Not Quite

"Why can't you get up at 7:30 in the morning like I do?"
"Why can't you get up at 3 in the afternoon like I do?"
"Why can't you buy all organic?"
"It's cheaper if you buy this brand."
The tugs and pulls of adult children coming home are tough on everyone. I try hard not to fall back into the usual mother/child relationship, but I fail miserably over and over. I try hard not to get angry, but I do. I try not to say the things that are at the tip of my tongue, but half the time I fail and blurt it all out.
It is so good to see them, but it is so hard to live with them. I know they feel the same about me.