And the stockings were hung by the chimney with pushpins
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The plan was to be in by Christmas.
We sold the house, crammed most of what we owned into a Pod, and made the trek downtown for what we figured would be a 6-8 month adventure in South Bluffs, tops.
The year marker passed, probably as Caleb was tiling our future home's bathroom floor or sanding...something. Somehow the plan to be in by Christmas became the Obsession. You know Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters? My husband. Except, instead of a mashed potato mountain, we will actually have a house in the end.
I just hope I have a husband. He's been working 14 hour days, building, moving, installing and staining the hardwood floors by hand with some eco-friendly, low voc oil that still makes his head - not to mention his central nervous system- all wonky. When he staggered in last night, his face still lined from the ventilation mask, his hair covered in dust, he walked right past Harlow's and my declaration.
Our stockings were hung by our crudely drawn chimney with care. So what if we're not in by Christmas. We'd much rather have a sane, healthy daddy to celebrate with us. I figure Santa will know where to find us.
Today he told me he is thinking of making our tree out of cardboard boxes. (We're not allowed to have a real tree in our apartment, fire hazards and all). My impulse was to say why? And build something else?
But I'm not going to take away his Christmas spirit.
** Tomorrow my extended family descends on the Happiest Place on Earth for some much needed relaxation. Posting will likely be light until next week...