Part Twenty-Four: The Three McCork-ateers
And, in the end, it was one of the most wonderful Christmases I’ve ever had.
On Christmas Eve, there were good friends, good food (I cooked and no one died, I take that as a sign the food was good), lots of laughter, several card games (Mr. Rugby came out with a deck and the dining room suddenly had a whole saloon vibe), great conversation, and wine. Chocolate, too. Gotta have chocolate.
Christmas Day, my 32-year-old and 25-year-old were up early, not as early as when they were little and 5 a.m. was the norm, but by seven they were both salivating in front of the tree.
They got things they’d asked for.
They got socks. (I do the wash. Trust me, there’s no saving the one’s they’ve been wearing.)
They got money. (And promptly fled to a dark surface to make their mobile deposits.)
I got them. All to myself. (Yes, I got presents. Too many, in fact.) But I got my boys. It was just the three of us for the first time in years. Maybe since my ill-advised second marriage.
Several times Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and now (yes, right now), I was flooded with gratitude for having my babies, my boys, my young men with their awful socks (frequently on display, display!, in their slides), their crazy sense of humor, their difficulties, their unique gifts and goals, their talent for talking me under the table (criminy, Mr. Rugby does it, too!) all to myself.
2023 has not been a banner year. But it was a banner Christmas, one I hope I never forget. It was just the three McCork-ateers. And it was wonderful.
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If you’d like to read parts 1-23 of Life On The Inside, you can do so here.
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Until next time, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Love,
Susan xo
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