Instead of Friday Five, I thought I'd play catch up with y'all for a while. Finals are done and my grades were actually pretty good considering I haven't been in school in like 157 years and my last professor was Mrs. Stegosaurus. Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday) came and went with my boys and my local family. My dad works in retail so we don't usually get to celebrate and that makes me sad, but this year I was able to have a big meal, watch football, the whole shebang. It was really special. You know, except that the person I'm most thankful for was in Boston and I was not. (Tip: that's a running theme today). I survived mid-terms and finals and stayed out of a psych ward. So you know, winnah-winnah-chicken-dinnah, there. Now it's Christmas time. Right around the corner. Presents have been bought and wrapped (except Stomp's...he enthusiastically and conspiratorially declared he
knew about Santa...So I told Mr. Too Big For His Mf'ing Britches that I'd fix his computer for his gift) and shipped. Cards went out (except the dozen or so I lost, oopsie). Stockings and lights are hung. The tree is up and decorated and sparkles daily. Which is good. My sparkle has dulled to a flickering twinkle these days.
I knew what I was doing when I signed on for a long-distance relationship. I knew there would be days it wouldn't be so bad (like when we snuggle up and he dutifully watches Christmas movies, not because he loves
them, but because he loves
me). I knew there would be days it would be hard (like when he went to his holiday party and I got to hear about the food and see him all dashing, dapper and handsome, but didn't get to hold his hand as he walked in). What I failed to fully appreciate was
how fahking ridiculously hard some things would be. I stare blankly at the tree and wonder what it would look like if we had some of his little boy's ornaments on it. I imagine the two of us under a blanket, giggling over cocoa after the kids have gone to bed. I imagine the joy on his face as he gets to
see my boys open the gifts from him or me open whatever insanely thoughtful thing he's gotten me this year. And, I'm not going to lie, I cry. Sometimes I cry a lot. The years that I have the boys, I cry less because I don't want them to be confused. Stomp's old enough to understand that this thing is hard. Joshie Mark is not.
So anyway, this year the boys head off to their dad's for Christmas and I head off to...nowhere. It just didn't work out for me to travel this year and I'll be home alone for everything. Oh, I have some plans. My dad's on the wagon again and that makes him pretty delightful company. And because I'm
the most fahking awesome chick on the planet a big fahking dork, I'm in a ridiculous and truly pricey college bowl game pool. I have a college bowl game date with my dad to Buffalo Wild Wings. I'm not studying like a demon so I can finally tackle some of the books Boston sent me and I got from the library. I'm working on a multi-part series for the blog here (which was going to be called "Nebraska And Boston:A Love Story" until Boston pointed out how closely those initials sounded like a serious perv problem and we may see a sharp increase in all the wrong kind of blog traffic). I'm going to listen to Ed Sheeran until I've convinced myself to follow him across the globe. I'm going to memorize every single word to T-Swift's "Blank Space" (that's my
JAM right now). I'm going to clean up a lot because I do have a few newish pieces of furniture moving in. I'm going to try to make my bedroom less "where shit goes to die" and more "sanctuary for a crazy lady". But I'll be doing it all distracted, my heart and soul in Boston, as it always is.
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