Forgive me, friends. I know I’ve been A.W.O.L. since Thanksgiving. But part of me really wanted to FOCUS on December, while the kids are on the cusp of growing up. My Varmint is, sadly, barely still open to the magic, but My Critter is hanging on by his ripped, dirty fingernails, stubbornly clinging to his childhood dreams of Christmas.
Recognizing this, I didn’t want to miss a thing, and rarely sat down to write. So here we are a month later, and I’ve much to catch you up on! Get your coffee, snuggle in, and I’ll bring you up to date! (Or, if you read me from your phone on the toilet, as many do, go ahead and turn the fan on.)
I don’t know if you remember, but one of our family traditions during Thanksgiving and Christmas is making Advent Chains. On the evening of Thanksgiving, we write affirmations of our love and affection for eachother, link by link. 25 links get written for each of us. Then on December 1st, they get hung up and every morning thereafter until Christmas, we each get to open a link.
These can really start your day right. SOMETIMES, though, it will throw you for a loop, and you’ll find it takes all of that 24 hours to find your goofy center again. Behold:
The day had just begun. The kids were at their father’s house, and My Captain and I were off to deliver Baklava and Rumballs to dear ones. But wait! We need to open our links!
Gleefully, I plopped myself down on the creaky, old stairs of the Little Cottage, and gently pulled open one excessively over-taped link. These can be difficult to pry open without ripping.
Chuckling at my success of opening the treasure without tearing it, I could see this one was written by my beloved Varmint. Her nearly-illegible scrawl is so like my own. She could be a Doctor with that handwriting, I laughed.
And then I began to read….and stopped laughing.
Oh my sweet beloved daughter. If only you knew how such simple and innocent words will fly straight into the deepest parts of a divorced Mama’s heart….cutting cleanly through regret and the fear of maternal inadequacy… right to the part where love lives. What mother doesn’t need to hear she is getting something right?
“Well, you’re day is shot,” My Captain accurately and condescendingly snickered, as my whole face contorted with “Awwwwwww!”
I had to blink back tears and get ahold of myself before I realized My Captain was opening his daily link, and grabbed the camera.
He’s fast, that guy! Sorry for the blur! And he may be fast, but he’s not as nimble at prying open fifteen layers of scotch tape as Mama is. It didn’t take long for him to fall back on the Special Ops / Montana Mountain Man mentality: Adapt, Improvise, and Overcome.
He’s one to work smarter, not harder, and with the flash of his wrist….
he whipped out his pocket knife, but only because his Bowie knife was in the dishwasher.
And then the manly-man who was just snickering at my emotional upheaval got effectively served by the same Varmint who had so masterfully upended her Mama.
And that was the last picture he let me take. A man’s got to keep his pride, after all!
Now, I ask you, how could I be expected to blog with all of this emotion swirling around our hearth and home? I’d have to be superhuman to be able to calmly sit down at my laptop during that raging, month-long storm of sentimentality.
I knew you’d understand! Besides, we’ll catch up, I promise!
Love,
Mama B.
Mama Boe 
That is such a nice tradition that your children will remember and pass on to their children. Glad you had time for your family in December. However…I think you need to tell the post office that I didn’t get my Rum Ball Box… Maybe they realized what wonderfulness was in it and they had a party?
Your house is the best and the most fun.. I need to be put on the list of receivers of said rumballs..and baklava!!! I’ll even trade fruitcake, JD style!