Cookies for Breakfast

I just washed an entire load of pajamas.  Just pajamas; flannel pants, t-shirts, and even one pair of actual pajamas, the old fashioned kind.  They are black fleece and have polka dots.  As my friend exclaimed when I unwrapped them, they are “me”.

That’s the kind of week it’s been, a pajamaed week; a week spent, for the most part, inside the flannel-lined cocoon that is my home.  I’ve eaten cookies for breakfast.  I’ve mastered most levels of my son’s new fishing game.  Spear-fishing and bow-fishing are easy.  It’s the rod-fishing that’s given me a little trouble. 

I’ve watched hours and hours of college football between frequent, sometimes tiny, naps.  I love the way that happens.  The feeling creeps in like a cozy fog and I realize that if I close my eyes and tilt my head ever so slightly to one side, sleep will come.  I’ve learned to embrace the feeling.  And, I’m reaping benefits.  Yesterday, the face that met me in the bathroom mirror was clearer, less lined, more relaxed, content.

We did go out on Tuesday.  We had gift cards to redeem and Christmas money to spend.  Shane bought a pair of Sperry Topsiders.  Counting out seventy five dollars, he laid it on the counter taking great pains not to touch the hand of the clerk who congratulated him, repeatedly, for being a “good boy” and “saving” his money.  I tried, once, to correct her.

“It’s Christmas money.” 

She either didn’t hear me or didn’t care, and continued to voice her approval.

Of course, my son believes he and his friends practically invented Sperry Topsiders.  He winced just slightly when the clerk called out his total, but I’m sure he would have paid whatever it cost.  The only thing of which he was not certain was the color.  You see, it’s very important that one’s Topsiders are the proper color.  I started to tell him that when I wore them we favored the darker brown.  I started to tell him I could show him a photograph that hadn’t even had time to fade.  But I didn’t.

While we were out, I was delighted to discover that Sirius radio continues to play Christmas music right up until New Year’s Day.  I don’t understand why our local station doesn’t do that.  They begin playing carols a week before Thanksgiving when people are mainly just thinking about food, and if they are thinking about Christmas it’s because they’re hoping that this year the family will draw names.  Then, at midnight on the day after Christmas, the carols end.  Sometimes right in the middle of a song!  Okay, so they might not change formats in the middle of a song but it is abrupt.  And, it does come before I am ready.  It’s good to know Sirius “gets” me.

I take vacation the week after Christmas.  I do this for a number of reasons.  I do this because Shane’s Dad takes vacation the week before.  I do this because I enjoy watching college football.  And, as I recently came to realize while sitting in a tub of warm water after an emotional day during which I almost cried while watching a car commercial, I do this because I don’t want my holiday to end in a pile of torn wrapping paper and dirty dishes.  Especially this year, I don’t want Christmas to end.     

I don’t want to go back out there.  I don’t want to work, or pay bills, or worry about children, or plan meals, or work out, or clean the bathroom.  I want to wear pajamas and eat cookies for breakfast.  I’ve still got one level of that fishing game to conquer.  I want to stay up as late as I like, secure in the knowledge that there will be more than enough time for a nap tomorrow. 

But there won’t…

So, I will.

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