It’s been quite a ride, the past few weeks. Months. Year.
And just now, Gadget came and got the kids for the very first time since his departure. He’s taking them to see Santa at the mall, and to see his new place. I have mixed feelings. Happiness that he’s reaching out to them. Relief to have a moment to myself. Anxiety that they’re not in my hands.
I might not have felt so anxious had he not wrecked the truck two weeks ago.
Until then, he wasn’t playing nice. And then.
It humbled him. Before he was just acting out in anger, and being very childish and selfish (IMO). After, he was more broken and afraid. The latter is more real, and I can see someone I recognize again, whereas the angry man was such a stranger.
The weekend after that, a pipe burst, and I had to call on him for help. It was traumatic, but he came through. And I appreciate it, probably much more than he knows or believes. I told him as much, but his ears are mostly closed to me now.
And last week. Work. Oh, my goodness, work. It was a momentous week. We had first flight. It’s a big, big deal, and it stirs some sort of pride in me, even though I’m far removed from anything specific to do with that effort. Add to that an emergency server migration, and for icing on the cake, the maiden release of the software application that has consumed me for the better part of the year. It doesn’t sound like much, when parsed into these few words, but for me, it’s huge.
I was and am so close to an emotional meltdown. The sheer exhaustion resulting from the pressures and strains from all aspects of life of late. It’s a lot to bear, and I try to take it in stride, and carry it gracefully.
Of course it all culminates during the holiday season, which in and of itself is a time when depression and stress tend to surface with a vengeance.
BB and I were talking about Christmas, and how exciting it is to wake up on Christmas morning and open your stocking to see what Santa brought. I started to tell him about how, as children, we’d be SO excited, and we weren’t allowed to open any presents until our parents were up and ready, but we were allowed to take our stockings. Oh, the joy, wonder and excitement. And I burst into tears, just thinking about our ratty tatty stockings, and what my destitute mother must have had to go through emotionally every year, to try and find a way to make Christmas for nine children a magical event. She always pulled it off, though. It was always wondrous for me, and I think it was as well for the others.
How fortunate my children are, not to know poverty. Yet, dire straits can teach some great life lessons about the true value of life experiences in contrast with material things. I know I overindulge them, but I hope I will always be able to temper it. I hope I can teach them to be considerate of others and not to be selfish.
BB asked me if Santa was going to bring just one present or a whole bunch. I told him I didn’t know, that we’d have to wait and see. I bought myself a little time. Help! Part of me wants to establish the Santa ground rules. Does Santa just bring one present? What if other kids will get lots of presents from Santa? How does one sort out the comparisons? So far there is nothing under the tree except things for other people. What to do. I’m tempted to say that Santa brings just one present. If that’s the case, maybe I can put some things under the tree now, and that will be exciting for them to see. Oh, what to do, what to do.
