I got my Christmas wish. After spending the morning unwrapping presents with my husband and son and the afternoon eating and visiting with my extended family, I'm home sitting in my office with my feet up and enjoying some peace and quiet.
I had a fun day with my boys, watching both of them open their presents with wide eyes and smiles on their faces. Then we drove to my uncle's house in a semi-rural area of San Diego County, where we hugged and talked to our aunts, uncles and cousins, ate too much food, played with the chickens and dogs, and checked out my uncle's recent work in his art studio.
Worn out from all the day's excitement, my 3-year-old fell asleep in the car and stayed asleep when I laid him down in his bed to finish his nap. My 34-year-old began snoring on the couch within minutes of lying down, even while I was a few feet away talking on the phone to my dad in Alabama, getting instructions on how to reheat the "redneck meat" he sent us for Christmas -- smoked sausage, smoked pork loin and smoked bacon-wrapped quail.
And now I'm sitting in my office enjoying the sound of nothing except for the hum of my computer, the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard and my husband's heavy, slow, sleepy breathing from the other room. The TV's not on, my son's not yelling for a fresh cup of milk and my husband's not saying, "No Jackson. Stop Jackson," because our Jack is jumping on him again.
I got just what I wanted -- some quiet time to myself. Time to write. Time to read. Time to relax. Thank you. Merry Christmas.
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