Year End

This time of year is always a bit odd for me.  I've been observing Russian Christmas on January 7 for the past 14 years or so, and it still feels bit a off, in part because my kids are all in school now, with a winter break keyed to Western Christmas on 12/25.  It's been a number of years since we traveled to either side of the family for Western Christmas, and so these two weeks tend to feel like suspended animation.  (Also, I miss my family something fierce during this month, and am usually in a melancholy sort of frame of mind as a result). 

This month has been marked by a lot of illness; Piglet came home from a trip to the monastery over Thanksgiving with a fever and a cough, which then spread to the other kids in turn.  The kids' school also had several similar viruses running around, plus a stomach bug.  So the weeks of December were punctuated by sick kids at home, weekends wondering if we needed to take a child to the ER, antibiotics, steroids, and interrupted nights. 

On the last day before the winter break, Piglet came down with another fever.  A scary fever.  I don't scare easily when it comes to medical issues; I've seen too much in the past eight years to panic regularly.  But that fever.  Man. 104.4.  In my mind, that is seizure territory, because for Birdie, it is.  And febrile seizures mean ambulances, and years off my life.  The grey hair on my head didn't come from nowhere.  But for Piglet, it meant misery and delirium and fever interventions that seemed to take ages to kick in. 

Finally, after several hours, two different fever meds, a warm bath, and several wet washcloth applications, his fever got into a range that I no longer felt scared.  He fell asleep and so did I.  On Saturday, he saw the doctor and was diagnosed with pneumonia and placed on antibiotics.  (It also convinced me I need a new stethoscope, because I couldn't hear it on my old one at home).

Any plans I had for the winter break have been placed back on the shelf for reassessment on a day-to-day basis.  It's okay, actually.  I'm exhausted, and long school breaks are usually pretty stressful for me.  Having kids who are still recovering is probably a best-case scenario at this point, because we can have a relaxed schedule, and just take the days easy. 

It is the first time in a long time that I've felt at leisure to have lazy days.  I've been more at ease during the day these past few days than for a long time.  It is pleasant to be with the kids and doing my things while they play with legos, sing Gaudete, watch holiday movies, and make craft projects.  (That's not to say that they aren't fighting in frustrating ways; that's to be expected.  But the overall tone of the day is much more pleasant, and anyone who knows me in real life will know that is a big change). 

These past weeks have been a time of reassessment for me, of thinking about the year gone by, and considering the year to come.  I started the year feeling unusually anticipatory.  New Year's Eve had given me a sense that something was going to happen in 2019.  I was open and curious about many possibilities of change.  There were perhaps glimmers of things to come, but nothing substantiated. 

As I approach another New Year's Eve, I confess to feeling somewhat deflated.  I wonder about the things I attached significance to, thinking they portended something, but turned out not to (at least not at this writing).  Was I just delusional? 

Nothing has really happened this year.  Sure, I finished my novel, and submitted to a publisher, but it is languishing in limbo at the moment.  (Perhaps I'll hear one way or another in the spring).  I started sketching out the next book.  Sewed some clothes, knitted some things.  The kids finished one school year and began another.  The summer was what it was.  I turned 40.  Digging in with the emotional lives of my kids is one of the constants of my days, and I remain committed to therapy with all four of them, plus my own.  My shoulders ache with the weight of it all.  I've perhaps learned a little bit more about being a parent and a lot more about the extent of my own brokenness. 

But mostly, life just kept on trucking. 

Perhaps that is what it is right now.  Just the slow and steady putting of one foot in front of the other, of setting aside the optional and cosmetic for what lies beneath.