Relishing the holiday clutter
This is the day for putting things back together.
Morning breaks each Dec. 27 to the chaos of wrapping paper, ribbons, boxes and the rest of the clutter that settles around the room where all the family holiday happened. It takes two days to get to this, because – well, mainly because of all the sugar that was consumed starting Dec. 24. We stagger through Christmas Day and its many cookies and the driving all over, and then we awake the day after with the annual nut roll hangover. We took at the mess around the room, scratch our bellies and then stumble back to the couch to watch yet another insipid holiday rom-com.
I’ve actually enjoyed the clutter this year. My son, his fiancée and their dog have been here all week, filling the house with the things I’ve missed since they moved out of state. When they arrived by car on Sunday, they came ready for almost anything: suitcases with changes of clothing, computers and other electronics in case their jobs beckoned, gifts in bags and wrapped boxes, heavy coats and hats, even a pillow or two.
And then there were the things for the dog: water and food bowls, little bags of treats, a leash and a harness, chewy toys, a huge crate and a tall metal can filled with dog food. They don’t have children yet, but when that happens, the download from car to house will take twice as long. I remember those days, traveling home from Connecticut with an infant, a preschooler and a dog. I don’t know how we did it.
My kids have been mindful of their footprint here. They’ve helped with the dishes, have kept most of their stuff upstairs in their bedroom, and have kept counters and tables clear, except for the kitchen bar, which has become the staging ground for the dog stuff.
And can I tell you about the dog? He’s a rescue – large and young and probably some kind of husky-lab-Great Pyrenees mix. He is sweet and well-behaved and has the most impressive, fluffy tail. In the few short weeks he’s been with the kids, they’ve taught him basic manners. When the kids leave him with me, he parks himself by the front door to wait for their return. Occasionally he’ll come to the office to check on me.
“This place is so spacious,” my son said while we were having coffee the other morning. He’s right about that: the place with its three bedrooms upstairs and master suite downstairs is too big for me, except when the kids are here, and then they fill up the space. They fill it up with their things and their energy, and their lovely selves.
I’m hoping to fill the house even more today with the arrival of my daughter and her husband and their dog. But they would be coming from way far north in New York, and they’re keeping an eye on the weather. I hope they can safely get here – they and all the many things they’ll need: clothing and gifts, the gift trays of cookies she’s baked, the dog toys and dog food.
From my space at my desk right now, I can see the front door. There’s a row of boots: two pairs of big, men’s work boots and a pair of very small, white snow boots. Next to them, a large yellow dog is sleeping. I think he has one eye open, watching the door for his people to come home.
I understand that, Pup. I’m doing the same.