Except not, really.
Christmas is only a week away, and there's still so much to do. I literally climbed out of the middle of a pile of wrapping paper and ribbon and glitter and gifts in order to write this post.
Wait. Let me try:
The boys are in the back of the Jeep, bundled and buckled and belting, in unison over each bump: FAAAAST. There are three rumble strips on the way to preschool, and they’ve timed the words in order for their voices to vibrate. The game proves pretty hilarious to everybody in the backseat.
They were in a hurry to get to the holiday party. And I was trying to remember to carry in teacher gifts and classroom snacks, trying to keep track of errand lists and pickup schedules. Everything was calling so loudly, the cookies, the cards, the other cars. The boys.
I wrapped all six presents for the boys tonight. Spoiler alert, three of them are books, one for each and one to share. Part of our "quieter and calmer" strategy.
The boys are behind Poppy’s four wheeler, bundled haphazardly and unbelted but for big brother's arms. Their delighted squeals stop only because they’re hollering over the hum of the motor, FAAASTER Poppy! Faster, please!!
Eventually I hopped on too. It’s easy to lose all sense of adulthood, to contract the innocent wonder of my children. It may be easier still to lose any sense of advent, though, to rush, to hustle, to hear loud and feel fast. From the back of the sled, I just wanted to yell Slower, please! SLOW down.
It really is busy, December, as slow as I try to make it.
I can hear the quiet voice that's telling me to go to bed now though. And I'm listening.