I lay here on the couch
baby sound asleep on my chest
Christmas jazz on the radio.
My lover out shopping,
braving the stores for us, his family,
despite his intense dislike of consumerism.
We need rice.
He goes for us.
Doodle asleep in bed
after a long
cooped-up sort of day
being sick, and tired,
of this whole big sister thing.
I need to be more patient.
To embrace the fun
and the play of these holidays
without getting bogged down
in grown-up blah.
Sure, there's still a pajama shirt to sew
(in purple, her current favorite color)
and gift bags to make
and food to cook
and a house to keep
but they're only this age once.
I remember the magic
and excitement of this season
from my childhood.
I want that for them.
So there's gingerbread dough in the fridge,
with plans for super-special cookie making
and much more listening to favorite Christmas music
(though on cd or streamed from the computer,
rather than the vinyl of my youth.
I'll still sing with the Muppets
and hope that one day Doodle will sing along with me).
Back to playing,
back to focusing on the little things that can turn a day magical.
We need more of that.
For us all.