A Day Of Rest...

 Christmas for us, looks a bit different.  With the kids grown, and working straight up to the minute, it often resembles a day of rest than a celebration of life and family. This year was no different, other than it fell on a Sunday, giving the Hubs Christmas Eve off. This allowed him to do a much-needed grocery shopping trip while I toiled away in the mail truck, so we'd have food for our annual Christmas morning breakfast and less fancy food for the rest of the day. 

Remarkably, I got home from work about 130pm, was able to catch up on much needed bills, cleaning, and gave the dog a good, albeit freezing, walk through the neighborhood while Hubs was still out running errands. Bonus son would arrive around 8pm as he was working until 730. Oldest was home around 5pm, and Youngest curved all his plans to be in for the night by 6pm. I actually snapped a picture of them all in the living room, at the same time, a true Christmas miracle. Our Christmas happens on Christmas Eve, a tradition we started years ago, opening all our gifts at midnight. 

As the years have gone by, our midnight has become 10pm, because well, we are tired. This year was no different.  We opened gifts, the boys played video games. The gifts were not as plentiful, but meaningful none the less. Oldest got plane tickets for his yet to be determined spring break trip.  Bonus son got a roomba. Youngest got a sweatshirt, multiple gift cards (portability and practical for the uncertainty of his future) and a small hand pour of silver, something he has collected and loved since his early teen years. Youngest fell asleep on the couch shortly after opening his gifts. Being a pot head, when he slows down, he sleeps. 

The Hubs got a book series he wanted, a leaf blower, and some T-shirts. I got all the boys under one roof, if not for a brief few hours, the brad nailer I wanted, some new jammies, a neat little sign and charm from Oldest. It says I love you to the moon and back, something I have said to both of them since they were born. 

And then there was Youngest's gift. It's hard loving someone who has a mental unbalance and chemical addition. Like with Oldest's gift, he thoughtfully bought it for him months ago, but they got into a fight, so he was going to keep it for himself.  Oldest saw it in the garage, so when he opened it, he assumed it was a regift.  Which it wasn't, but there was no convincing him of that.  It soured the night for him. While he's okay now, it's hard when the lines of brother and addict get blurred. Youngest fell asleep before he could give my my gift, which was okay with me, as having him home sleeping soundly was gift enough.

Christmas morning, he was so excited to give me my gift.  He said he saw it at the mall and knew it was just right for me.

Thing is, it was just right for me. Hubs and I had seen them at the mall, loved them, but determined they were way too pricey for the splurge. Somehow, youngest just knew. He knew the colors, the design, he just knew. 

I think that's the hardest part about all of this.  That my son is still in there somewhere, struggling to get out, struggling to be seen and heard. Struggling to make sense of everything. 

We all had Monday off as well, since the holiday fell on a Sunday. Oldest and I ran errands exchanging a few things that weren't quite right. Youngest was gone most of the day, his heartache today brought on by his father and that side of the family, his anger coming through initially on me, and then later towards his uncle. They were supposed to do a paper lantern lighting in honor of his 51st birthday tonight, neither one of the boys wanted to go, and they didn't.

One good thing of note, the camper *should* be heading to the scrap yard tomorrow or Wednesday, which would mean one less thing following him into the new year. I happen to have Thursday off as well, as the cat has a vet follow up for her pneumonia, and it looks as though I may not have to work overtime on Saturday. Ensuring I have one final day of rest, before we head straight into all that 2023 will bring.