It's Christmas Eve, Jude and the boys are in bed and the stockings are hung . . . well, not necessarily hung, but filled with goodies and set carefully on the floor amidst a plethora of presents at the foot of our Christmas tree. So there.
I'm having a glass of wine and listening to a Christmas music playlist on Spotify. Willie Nelson, Nora Jones, Tim Reynolds, Ricky Skaggs, etc. It's nice.
As always on Christmas Eve, I'm a bit melancholy, as my favorite time of year draws to a close. October 1 - January 1 is my favorite time of year. I love fall, football, the temperature dropping, Halloween, Thanksgiving and, most of all, Christmas. I love everything about the Christmas season and now it's over, or nearly so.
It doesn't improve my mood to have the Elf on the Shelf staring accusingly at me with his sidelong glance. The boys have has so much fun getting up each morning and trying to find the Elf. Today, as the Elf sat quietly on the mantle above our fireplace, looking at our Christmas tree, J.P. wrote him a note telling him he would miss him.
It was touching and a bit sad, mostly because I suspect that before next Christmas, J.P. will learn the truth about Santa Claus and, of course, Elf on the Shelf. He's at that age and in school, where someone will spill the beans and tell him something he or she learned from an older brother or sister. I dread that day, because the real joy of Christmas is experiencing it through a child's eyes.
I'm also feeling a bit nostalgic, because this Christmas, our 11th if my math is correct, is almost certainly our last one in our house on Elliott Avenue. We've outgrown this house, plain and simple, and after the first of the year, I think we'll resume looking in earnest for a new house. This house has been so good to us, as we've celebrated holidays and birthdays in it. It's hard to imagine leaving the house and the neighborhood, but it's time. More - a lot more - on that later.
For now, though, Merry Christmas from 1906 Elliott Avenue in the heart of Nashville.
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