December 21st 11:00 p.m.:
The family is tucked into bed, sugarplums notwithstanding. The Christmas tree is glowing soft light and I’m up late in my jammies (no kerchief, no cap) knitting on the last Christmas present. Stocking are hung. There are still few presents to be acquired and a few more to be wrapped. The house guests arrive on the 24th and the house is not precisely prepared for guestage. An email went around today with ten questions about Christmas. First on the list: “Are you done shopping/making yet?” I vowed not to respond until I could respond “yes.” I sip my tea. Meeko bats at my needles. Stitch, stitch, stitch.
December 23rd 3:00 p.m.:
Shawn’s making a list. “Ham, rolls, apple cider...”
“Remember eggnog,” I say.
“Right, eggnog. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Leave so I can knit your Christmas present.” Shawn chuckles and kisses my cheek. And away to the grocery he flew like a flash.
December 24th 11:00 a.m.:
My knitting basket sits in the corner, still very much occupied. Presents under the tree (mostly). Silly Christmas forward still not responded to. I’m clad in rubber gloves. The toilet bowl is soaking in violently blue cleaner. Meanwhile, the guest sheets are churning in the washer and I’m windexing the kitchen windows. Shawn’s rubbing the ham with sage something-or-other. Luke is ferreting around the Christmas tree for presents “that say me on them.”
“I’m not sure this is any easier than driving 2.5 hours to somebody else’s house,” Shawn says, hefting a 10 lb ham into the oven.
“No,” I say between spritzes, “but at the end of it, we’ll still have a clean house.”
“And leftovers.”
December 24th 6:00 p.m.:
Fire in the fireplace. The house smells of residual ham and apple cider. The family is loosely circled in the living room. House is clean. Tree is at full-capacity. Tea and coffee served. I’m fat and happy, cuddled up next to Shawn on the couch.
“How’s that knitting coming?” he asks. “Need me to leave?”
“No, it’s not done, but I’d rather have your company than finish your present.” I grin. “I’m a terrible person.”
December 24th 11:00 p.m.:
Embers in the fire place are glowing. Luke’s laid out the cookies for Santa Claus and gone off to bed. I have vowed to let Santa in and keep the Grinch out. Meeko is drooling on my brother and nipping at his elbow. I’m full of trifle and sipping on tea. Shawn and Robert are discussing college life in the living room. I pile up a stack of throw pillows on the coffee table and bunker down on the floor on the other side of them with my knitting basket. Shawn looks at the top half of my head over the top of the pillows.
“Are you knitting over there?”
“Yes. Don’t look.”
“And you accuse me of being last minute?” Robert smirks.
“No comments from the peanut gallery.”
December 25th 12:00 p.m.:
The living room is somewhere underneath a sea of crumpled wrapping paper, through which Luke and his new remote control car are plowing. We’re slowing winding up one family adventure and preparing to pack up the sleigh to head off to the next. Everyone has pieces of new clothing on over their jammies or busy fingers figuring out new toys. The cat is finishing up her Christmas tuna-fish. Shawn’s wearing a new necklace. I have wrapping ribbons in my hair. We start to herd paper scraps into trash bags.
“Did you ever finish your knitting, Shannon?” someone asks.
Shawn laughs. “She can do it the back seat of the car on the way to her folks house.”
And dash away, dash away, dash away all.
December 25th 4:00 p.m.:
At my parents’ house, the family is opening small boxes that I’ve passed around, each pulling out a pair of socks. Shawn pulls out a pair out of one box and from another, a single sock dangling a skein of yarn with three needles holding live stitches where the toe should be. He laughs.
“It’s awesome.”
“It will be more comfortable when it’s done.”
He laughs again.
“Hand me that sock,” I say. I pull an extra knitting needle out of my hair and start the decreases.
December 26th 9:00 p.m. – present day:
Shawn returns to the living room after tucking Luke into bed in new jammies. The bags of paper are still in the living room. Leftover ham for dinner. The remote control car is parked under the tree for easy access and a marble run is taking up a good chunk of the living room floor. Shawn puts his feet up on the coffee table, each foot is wearing a different hand-knit sock. I put my feet next to his.
“All the whoos are asnooze?”
“Yep.”
“Want to play with Luke’s toys?”
Happy Christmas to all and to all a good-night.