Last night, in a semi-desperate attempt on my part to grasp onto some sort of holiday tradition before the boy got on yet another plane away, we picked out two new ornaments. Ceramic stars. We hung them from a window at his house. I meant to take a photo. I always mean to, but when you see someone in such short bursts, you want to make every blissfully cozy pajama-wearing, actually-having-dinner-together, so-happy-you’re-home moment count. Whipping out my cell phone and snapping (likely terrible) photos of us, or the things we are doing, never quite seems appropriate. All I want to do is be.
But, despite lack of photographic evidence, I remain thankful and happy and loved. Quite. I am also downright giddy over the fact that we actually get to spend Christmas together.
Here, you can have a look at a tired tortoise.
I am a tired tortoise.