On Christmas Eve

I've been so inspired by so many sites this Christmas. Money has been particularly tight for us this December, as our beautiful cat, Camino, came home with a badly broken leg early in the month. Her vet treatments were covered by the money I'd set aside for Christmas. Then our clothes dryer broke. While I found inspiration in the hand-mades I saw online, I walk the line between thrifty and incredibly busy (the last week of school contained two snow days, two Christmas concerts, Mass, Advent celebrations, a pizza lunch, sugar-cookie decorating...you get the idea); there is only so much time. I was staying up late in the evenings to finish the work-intensive handmades I was creating for my children, burning the candle at both ends.

The day before the last day of school (December 23), we brought Camino in to have her splint changed before the holidays; the news wasn't good. Her bones were not knitting, and were once again poking through the skin. Amputation, to be honest, was way out of our budget, and held no guarantees. Our wonderful vet felt that in spite of the excellent care she'd received, it would be most humane to put her down. Many tears were shed as we made this difficult decision, and said goodbye to an otherwise perfectly healthy young cat.

I'm sure I'm not alone; it seemed that, as the mama of the house, I'd worked my ass off for six weeks making sure Christmas would be bright for my children, my students, my husband, our families...baking, decorating, singing, reading Christmas stories, anticipating, knitting, wrapping, smiling at those moments when I got a good deal or found the perfect gift.

Then, by the time the day came, I felt spread so thin that I could hardly summon the strength to actually enjoy it all! On Christmas Eve, in spite of the beauty around me and my many blessings, I felt sad, stressed, worried, frazzled, and frustrated that I was feeling that way after so much work and preparation!

So, I put on my rubber boots and took a quiet, solo stroll just to the end of our lane way on Christmas Eve.

I looked at our house from the end of the lane. The clutter and mess and unpainted rooms are unseen from this perspective. The children arguing, the parents worrying, the animals demanding: unheard.

All I feel is home.

The rooster was beginning to crow in his cozy harem coop; a heat lamp keeps their water from freezing, and I pictured them roosting together, feathers fluffed to keep in the heat.

 I smile at the burdock (not sure if I've ever smiled at a burdock before), because of the little hats it wears. My grandmother always wore a tam at a jaunty angle, and I'm reminded of her once again.

 I wonder if bangs are in this year; straight but jagged seems to be the style.

 The icy rain that fell a few days ago didn't miss the opportunity to cling to every little strand of chicken wire; I love this icy beehive.

 Even the barbed wire was softened by the appearance of ice; one twang of the fence and the ice would tinkle to the ground.

The smokehouse, with a tiny decorative sled on the door, sits as if in wait for the next photo session. It, of all our buildings, is my favourite subject in all seasons. It calls to mind magical stories of small beings who eat hot buttered toast and tea for dinner, and invite any passersby in to sit by the fire for awhile.

As I step up to the front door, I turn once more to the lightening sky. A deep breath before I enter into the busyness of a Christmas-Eve-Home, a renewed feeling of well-being; sometimes all a mama needs for peace of mind in a hectic time is just her feet taking her out of the house and down the lane way for a few quiet moments.