It was a pretty sad day yesterday when s'daughter Shelby, the last house guest, packed up her things and left. Preschooler D wouldn't even look at her, much less say good-bye. They are two peas in a pod and he feels betrayed every time she leaves. For some odd reason, she'd rather go and celebrate the new year with her friends than hang around here playing Wii and going to bed once it's midnight in New York. Big Daddy and I call that close enough.
I threw out the last of the old dried out cookies and washed an endless mountain of sheets and towels. I walked around Target looking at the Christmas carnage. All the good stuff was snatched up on December 26. There's nothing left but boxes of graham crackers shaped like gingerbread houses and lime green short sleeve t-shirts that say "Have a Cool Yule."
Aren't these days a little melancholy? As hard as we try to make that Christmas feeling last all week, there's just no denying it's coming to a close. I feel a sort of painful good-bye to Christmas that's just like Daniel feels when Shelby goes back to school. It's all nice to be getting back to a regular routine -- eating the right thing at the right time, getting enough sleep, not worrying about having the right gift for the right person.
But wasn't it nice while it lasted?
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