Santa's Hat
written by Diane Seely
On the daily, in our house, there’s cat puke to clean up. The dog needs to go out (or come back in) every ten minutes.
Dishes to wash, dishes to put away.
I know you know.
Also, on the daily, there are arguments with Reagan - about almost anything and everything because, you know, he’s a #teenageradult.
He doesn’t want me to help him to shave or wash his face (I’ve been known to give him facials, man what a life! HE gets FREE facials anytime he wants!) How is it that his nails need to be trimmed again? But not now mom, can we do it later? Sure. We can.
And I get to do this for how much longer?
Why is this MY job anyway?
It’s 8:30 and my day started at 5:00am. I’m one dog-tired girl and that’s precisely when the boy remembers that tomorrow is the day, he’s supposed to wear something that lights up to school.
All I wanted, really wanted was a minute (that most likely would turn into an hour) to mindlessly scroll through Instagram.
We have a Santa Hat. But it’s alllll the way downstairs in the back side of the basement. OY!
That’s going to require me to trek down two flights of steps.
I only know for sure that we have one because just yesterday I spent a good part of a whole day cleaning the basement (organizing the twelve tubs of decorations that have been sitting there in disarray since before Thanksgiving).
I’m not kidding when I say you had to clear a path to get through!
But I digress. Aha! Found it….
Of course it doesn’t work. It appears though that an attempted surgery had been performed previously. Two wires hanging and the seams ripped open…
Batteries. What are the chances that we have this exact type of battery somewhere in this entire house?
Score!! Had to give a huge thank you to my ever-organized husband.
Once I figured out the proper way to place the batteries (+ and - Yes, of course I know that much! If I could see without a magnifying glass!)
I realize that there’s a short. The two little wires are placed where they should be, but no lights.
Nothing that a hot glue gun can’t fix.
Meanwhile back at the ranch… the boy was supposed to take a shower and start getting ready for bed.
I heard the shower run for maybe four minutes?
You can bet your sweet ass that I’m yelling at him by this time, “Get right back in there and do it again! There is no way you are clean! Your hair cannot be clean”
Incoming!! Take cover! He’s mad. I’m mad.
I climb back into my bed…
Doctor’s orders are to try to monitor my blood pressure. Ha!
“Your blood pressure is considered high (stage 1) if it reads 130/80. Stage 2 high blood pressure is 140/90 or higher. If you get a blood pressure reading of 180/110 or higher more than once, seek medical treatment right away. A reading this high is considered “hypertensive crisis.”
I’m in crisis alright.
Overwhelmed, under appreciated.
No one can possibly understand my life right now.
I’m a 63-year-old woman who’s raised five children. Lost one and will have one forever to care for. That’s fucking profound right there. But all of that is for another day, much deeper to write about. Another day I’ll be ready to. But not today.
Right now, I’m ready for my time. When is it going to be about me?
This isn’t about the Santa Hat, or how long the boy took in the shower (or how little time in this case). It’s about being a caregiver. It’s about the stress of the holidays. It’s about the fact that my husband travels.
A lot. More than I want him to.
It’s about being tired.
It’s about letting these things in life take over and losing the JOY.
I’m trying. Lord knows I’m trying to find it some way, somehow.
Is it there in the painting, the creating? I’ve found that it is.
Is it in the praying? Yes, it most certainly is.
Is it in the conversation? Calling a good friend, a sister - by blood or by heart. It can profoundly change your train of thought to have that connection.
What if it’s not enough though? What if the sadness follows you from room to room, place to place like a dark shadow that looms too closely?
I’m here to tell you that JOY comes incremental in minutes. Meaning that we look for this rush of JOY. We expect it to be something that comes and knocks us off our feet.
Perhaps JOY is composed like music. Maybe it’s in the lyrics that you know.
But did you pick up the song in its entirety the way that it was intended? In the way that it was to be heard?
Slow down. Listen.
That’s where you’ll find JOY!
Diane Seely and family
