finding a voice

a new year/


I did not expect the numbness of this week.

Most mothers with children under the age of 12 prepare frantically for the double dose of parent gifts/ santa gifts.  The shopping, the wrapping, and then there is the cooking and the cleaning and the gift giving and the staying up until all hours to make a list and check it twice to make sure the middle child doesn't feel like less of a person than the oldest or youngest.  There is a lot of preparation without a lot of introspection. 

Then the week of Christmas arrived with all of its promises.  Pete had off of work.  We had some plans, not many, but a few.  And then, for no reason at all, it all began to hit me.

We went to church on Christmas Eve and sat behind the choir because we arrived only 20 minutes before the service and there was no longer room among the rest of the congregation.  Henry loves music and he started to vocalize, loudly, when people were singing.  People started to turn around and stare.  For the first, and only time ever, I shushed him.  I was immediately ashamed. 

Pete left a bit early to take Thomas to the bathroom and brought Henry with him.  The last song of the evening was "Silent Night" and I was practically sobbing during it all and trying to sing.   What is wrong with me?

We opened presents Christmas morning and the boys are just on the brink of knowing that we were Santa all along.  Perhaps this is the last Christmas they believe in Santa and elves and magic.  In fact, I came very close this year to dropping that truth on them when they were asking Santa for the Lego Death Star (retails at $399) and telling me that Santa does not care about the price of gifts because he makes them.  However, they were opening their presents and so happy and joyful.  Henry opened his gifts almost on his own and understood that they were gifts for him for the first time this year.  In fact, it was all too overwhelming.

But when I talk about numbness, I think I mean more disconnected.   I don't feel like I'm completely in my own skin.   Yesterday, I knew we should be celebrating.  We went out for a nice dinner and had our little celebration, but there was a feeling of being removed from all of it.  I should say this lasted until we were almost done viewing the lights at the Denver Botanic Gardens.  We went into the greenhouse to view the tropical plants and the water features that Henry loves.  I watched the boys looking into the little pond, trying to find fish that don't actually live there, and was thinking in 2013, my boys will be 11, 9 and 6.  Then I thought, in five years, my boys will be 15, 13 and 10 and that is when I started crying.

It was like crying during Silent Night.  I don't know why five years made the difference.  I don't know why I cry at church for this song.  I don't understand why one year equals understanding and five years equals tears.  There is nothing clear about this equation.

Tomorrow, Pete will return to work.  I will still be on vacation with the boys.  I know I will miss him.