These Days

This time twelve years ago I had a little baby boy just over one month old and a homemade teddy-bear bunting to wrap him in. All the good things about this time of year and turning in to be cozy together more than we went out seemed embodied by that snuggly bunting and the baby it held. It seemed like life would be all Christmas from then on, forever.

This time ten years ago I had two of them to bundle before we went outside. Getting out was even more difficult now. (Case in point, Me after one night of loading them in and out: How do people with THREE kids do this? Michael's answer: Their husbands help more.)

Six years ago I was grouchy and exhausted and waiting for baby number three and the dread of my final cancer treatment for that season, radiation.

One year ago, I had three sons, mostly too old to bundle but much too young to leave, two scary nodules in my lung, and one scary surgery scheduled for the Monday after Thanksgiving. Cancer was totally harshing my cozy.

I like how life changes. I miss the babies in the bunting, but I like feeling so very strongly about the players on the football fields and basketball courts. I hate that some years bring surprising, terrible trouble. But I love that one year later the trouble can be far behind you except for its scars and small changes like oh-so-short dark curls.

I love a stack of books I want to read but haven't, peppermint mocha, a candle burning, and Christmas commercials. I love making plans and buttoning coats and going to the movies and turning way, way in.