Twas the Week Before Christmas

When my kidlet was little we made sugar cookies every year. This year he's a college freshman and I had to bake alone and mail. It was a different kind of fun mailing off cookies rather than baking with a toddler. Then I was a busy at-home-mom who had time to play in the kitchen. Now I'm a long-distance-mom who just wants her son home for Christmas.Getting ready for my son to come home for the holidays I did more than bake cookies. I decided to clean out my office. No sense in letting him see how bad it can get after preaching all those years about a clean room. teehee While going through the pile of papers on my work table (even bigger piles accumulate there than on a desk) I ran across a parody poem I wrote. It's the perfect time to share it with you. It's a sentimental bit of rhyming but indulge me.T'was the week before Christmas and all through the houseThere were unfinished projects piled, making me grouse.Some presents were wrapped with extra good careBut would have to be mailed or they'd never get there.The visions I'd had of hand written cardsDanced out of my head with other project discards.My days had been filled with mountains of crapAnd all I that wanted was a long winter's nap.Christmas used to bring magic with cookie dough batterI slumped in my chair and I pondered the matter."Where had I gone wrong?" I thought with a humphI'd better get out of the pre-Christmas slump.But how to connect with the magic I miss,And reach for some level of holiday bliss?When what to my wondering eyes should appearBut my four year old son whom I hold very dear."Is it time to bake cookies?" he asked in a rush.I squashed my first thought—to tell him to hush.His bright eyes were eager, "Let's measure the flour!"I sighed as I thought "This'll take more than an hour."Somewhere in the mixing and tasting and messI forgot all the things that were bringing me stress. The happiest parts of the hype I have foundAre intangible treasures that around us abound.Singing Rudolph at high pitch with multiple squeals,Not searching for bargains or incredible deals.Walking at night to view neighborhood lights,Not checking and planning for pre-Christmas flights.Christmas is in the eyes of my son.Mary had the same thought of her little one.I share in her joy of this most festive season.I know the hefty hype is the reason,I feel overwhelmed with the time tasks demand. Really there's only one thing He commands:"Honor my son and love him as yours.It's the one Christmas thing to truly adore.Not sweaters or bikes or trinkets or trees,Just discover my love on your bended knees."I'll hold onto this thought when the worries ariseAs I wander the mall in search of some prize.For the joy of this season is clasped deep insideI'll smile and thank Him and carry on with pride.