It was the night before Marmie (my mom) was to return home to Miami after 6 days of grandparenting bliss. The boys were holding each other and crying in their bunk beds. It was so bad that Jorge climbed up into the top bunk to console them, it was quite a scene. My mom could barely stand it.
"It's okay mom, they'll be fine.", I assured her. It gets a little worse each time, the happiness of being together and the sadness of living so far apart.
"Well Marmie, we're comin' to your house for Christmas." Jorge said after 45 minutes of getting them settled and to sleep.
We all laughed only to find out later he actually promised this, and we did in fact have to travel with three small children and an infant 1200 miles. Driving of course, because who can afford that many plane tickets? Even though this is probably a terrible idea I was secretly very excited. I'm going home for Christmas.
So now the countdown begins. The kids pretty much talk about it everyday. Josiah asks exactly how long we will be staying (he's asked this about 100 times). Jack talks about swimming on Christmas day as my parents live in Miami. Lucy suggests we go to Marmie and father's house for Christmas pretty much every other day but she insists that TODAY is Christmas and we must leave right away. Lyra now only cries half the time when she is in the car and usually when the car is stopped. This fits perfectly into Jorge's plan of driving straight thru while we pee in bottles in the backseat.
What love. I guess there is something about older people in your life. Like Santa they listen to your biggest dream. They put dollars or coins in your birthday cards. They spend time with you and are delighted by everything you do. They give good advice. They love you with no agenda.
So Christmas, bring your joy, we'll soak it up...especially the old people.