Contentment

There are occasions when I take pleasure in the most provincial things. Christmas traditions are one category of mundane activities that I enjoy more than I should admit. This year I'm accomplishing three things I've wanted to do for quite some time, since about when Adam... no, not that Adam... since about when Adam was with the Ants, I'd say.

First, I ordered personalized Christmas Stockings for my family from Pott.ery Barn. There's a 99 44/100ths percent chance that our family is complete, so I finally felt safe doing it. Stockings are a important facet of our Christmas traditions -- one of the things for which Santa is responsible -- and I've waited a long time to buy these stockings. (For the record, I put my and the Hubster's first names on ours, not "Mom" and "Dad." Because subsuming my identity that way? That's not how I roll.)

Next, after many years of scrooging-it-up and not sending holiday cards at all, I sent photo holiday cards. It's another thing I've been waiting to do; have a family and then torture them into cooperating for the perfect picture. Or near perfect. Or what will have to do.

Finally, we're staying put for the holiday. For more than twenty years, Christmas Day has meant miles of car travel and at least three stops. I've done it without with minimal complaining, but my refrain to anyone who would listen was always "When we have kids, we're staying put." Now that Monk is three, and understands Christmas and Santa and all that, we've reached that point. Anyone who wants to come to us is welcome and everyone else? Well, we'll see them when we see them.

Things aren't perfect, but I'm feeling more at peace this year than I have in a long time.