It's Christmas Eve and things aren't going quite as planned. I made this plan to keep busy and keep into eveything and try really hard to keep the 25th separate from the 26th. And I bought this amazing Advent Book, but then forgot it when we went to visit Grandma and are now 11 days behind schedule. And who can catch up from that on Christmas Eve?
But here we are. Christmas Eve. And I had this plan. Yesterday was wrapping and baking day. Only, I got the wrapping done the night before in a crazy whirlwind mess. Which turned out to be a great thing. Except for the part where I put out all the gifts under the tree and then after Little Lady got up, I didn't mention how they weren't fair game yet. And I went to brush my teeth and was greeted by a very excited lady holding her brand new Frozen Jammies. And I looked at her with magic in her eyes and happiness in her heart and I yelled at her for opening gifts before Christmas. And I didn't even stop there. I yanked them out of her hands, put them back in a bag under the tree and in my most Grinch-like voice told her its not Christmas yet so don't even think about it. She burst into tears and then five minutes later into flames.
Not literally, but kind of. We were making Nisu to hand out to the neighbors and she was helping me and then crying and then burning up. Fevers and chills and refusing to eat or drink and doctors appts and temperature scans every.30.minutes.all.night.long was how the day panned out. I was doling out the Motrin as often as posible and she was still burning at 104F for hours on end last night. And it was, of course, the night Dr. Daddy had call and was gone. He always seems to have call when we are most sick and in need of Dr. Daddy. The universe has a sick sense of humor, I think.
So, the upshot is that we get to eat three loaves of Nisu all by ourselves, because who wants to hand out baked goods to the neighbors that are possibly laced with influenza or whatever crazy virus we have? Don't you worry. Eating three giant braided loaves of bread in two days is not out of the question for us. Carbs and I, we are best buddies. In fact, we've already polished off 1.5 loaves. No need to remind me that I'm in leggings mode because I can't zip my pants already, thank you very much. I'm well aware. Yet still enjoying that Nisu and this pint. Cheers.
So the Lady is sick. But better, maybe? Still cranky as all hell, yet playful enough to sing about poop. At least she's eating grapes, because yesterday she ate like 15 calories all day long. And I'm barely exaggerating, which is amazing for me.
But the plan, it went on. The plan was for baking and handing out goodies yesterday. Got the bread done, but can't gift anyone. So we are eating bread. And not going to even make the cookies that I planned on and bought all the ingredients for. Right. I have 9 pounds of butter in my fridge. Ha.
Today was going to be family day. Hubs got home from work around 8 am and needs to sleep. Little Lady totally needs sleep today. Talk about cranky and tired. And Little Man, he's hanging by a thread, but I'm not sure he gets it. So right now, it's family naptime. Only I'm not napping, as Little Man pointed out before I made him head to bed and he told me I was mean for not playing a game with him. I guess I am mean. And also hyped up on Starbucks. And exhausted. And feeling frustrated that the plan isn't working. And missing Jameson. And hating the holidays.
We were planning on going to Mass tonight. I LOVE midnight mass. It's my favorite mass of the year. We were going to take the kids caroling and then head to mass. But it can't happen with a sick girl. And tomorrow we were going to have some friends over, but I've canceled it in case we are contagious or sick. It's the same group of friends we bailed on at Thanksgiving thanks to a stomach bug. I feel like such a flake.
So here is what it comes down to, the essence of what I'm really trying to say. I wanted to have a nice Christmas. To rise above the pain and sadness of this week we feel so deeply. To make it nice and spend it with friends and people we love. To give out gifts and be happy and ooze Christmas spirit. And the reality of it all is that life happened. We are here and she is sick and J is still dead, with the 4th anniversary approaching in two days time. And we will be alone, just the four of us on Christmas day. And Hubs and I will be reliving that Christmas four years ago with every breath we can barely take as we try so hard to smile and be present for the kids still here. And if there is to be any distraction, it will be that of sickness that isn't anything worth complaining about even though I do. Me, who knows what a really sick baby is like and yet I still complain about a measly virus here and there.
Life happened. And it screwed up the plan. The plan that included the magic of Santa and Jesus and daily advent and friends and love. And I don't know why it is screwed up, but it is. And it bugs me. And I feel like I'm yelling with my fist in the sky, wondering why can't He let us just have this one day, this one time the way it seems nice to us? Why must everything always be off-kilter? Haven't we proven we trust? Haven't we already sacrificed everything? But here we are. Can't go to church. Can't be with friends. Can't even hand out goodies to the neighbors.
And I hate the holidays. I hate that I have tried so hard this year. With Thanksgiving. I made plans for me and the kids even though Hubs had to work a 24 hour shift. I bought gifts for the people we were going to see. I baked and cooked. And then it all went to hell with a stupid stomach bug. And now here we are again. Christmas. Merry freaking Christmas. Again sick. Can't give gifts. Can't give hospitality. Can't even go to Church.
And I know I sound whiny and ungrateful for the awesomeness that I do have in my life. And I know that my sadness and heavy heart get old for most of you. And I know that Christmas is about way more than me feeling good and being happy. But I just tried so hard this year. And it all fell flat. And I'm here, with the rug getting pulled out from under me once again.
Because HIS birth and his death will always be tied together for me. And the link seems more of a tangled mess than a beautiful bow to me. And I don't know how to make it work. Not ever. This loving God and missing Jameson. This circle of life where HIS birth makes his death okay. How can that be? This miracle. God gave me his son and I gave him mine and this week it is all tied together in sadness and hope and darkness and waiting and love.
And maybe every time I try to separate the two, maybe I'm running away. And maybe this forced quiet, this unplanned time to just be instead of do, maybe this is HIS gift to me. To see the bow where I only see a ruined knot. Maybe He is saying stop and SEE and FEEL. And maybe the pain and the hollowness and darkness are a reminder of what He felt when He gave His son to me, for me, because He loves me.