Christmas Eve

It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve put together Zoe’s Skuut, laid out the stockings, and shoved the last two peanut butter chocolate kiss cookies down my throat before anyone else could claim them. Now I can sit back and relax and reflect. This December marks the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death and amidst all the holiday cheer–the lights, eggnog, gifts, and endless variations of the Twelve Days of Christmas, making the rounds of friends and family with the kids dressed in their cutest outfits–I find myself now more than ever feeling her loss and regretting that my mother will never meet Zoe and Calder, and that they will never know her. However, I can take some joy knowing that, thanks in part to her, my children have a really cool and handsome father. But there is joy this season as well, and that is the Hanukkah miracle of the cat. A couple of weeks ago I opened the living room door for our cat Tucker at 10:00 in the morning, and nine days later he returned. Despite a cold snap and heavy rain during the period he was gone, he returned healthy and clean, and only slightly hungrier than usual. We can only guess where he might have been, but it certainly would have been a darker holiday without him. So, welcome home Tucker. And to my mom, if you're looking down on us, know that we're thinking of you (but please don't 'look down on us' when I'm in the shower).