Christmas Eve will find me, Where the lovelight gleams, I'll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams

 

As Christmas time nears and we contemplate what to do for our first Christmas with Violet, I've been thinking more and more about where I consider "home". Yes, it's where the heart is; yes, it's also where I hang my hat. But one of the questions often asked of where I'll be while Scott is in Thule is, "Oh, Colorado, is that home?" and the much longer response is far too involved to give to the casual conversationalist.

To me, home has to be 129 Wyckoff Ave, though it no longer exists. I lived 6 years in Japan, another 6 years in Fort Lee, but Wyckoff was where we spent the most time growing up and making the friends I still hold dear today. We survived Hurricane Floyd, the Blizzards of '96 and spent a total of 15 years celebrating all kinds of milestones together. Since my parents sold the place in 2005, I've known that I'll never be able to go "home" again. Especially now since the new owner tore the whole damn place down to make another monstrosity of a house that will hopefully be someone's new place to make memories.

I'm sad that I'll never be able to bring Violet to my old home to show her where I threw the stapler to make the dent in the laundry room door, or the fireplace my siblings and I huddled around to have our Dad teach us how to play poker with Lite Brite pieces on a snowy Sunday, or the cozy kitchen our family spent good quality time together. I know I'm waxing nostalgic, but I think that's what usually happens around the holidays.

And now as a grown-up with my own family, I've been preoccupied with ideas of how to make a home for Lady Violet. Within her first 5 years of life, she will already have 2 different houses in Mountain Home, a place in Pagosa Springs and at least one other home in Japan under her belt. And being that Scott has another 9 years before he can retire from the Air Force, more moves will most definitely be in our future. Violet won't really have a building she can point to and call "home", but I will do everything I possibly can to give her a home-feeling wherever she goes.

Because of all of the moving I've done in my life thus far, I remember thinking I just wanted to find a home and live in it for as long as I had children to raise. But I now realize that not only is that not really a feasible childhood dream to accomplish, I should and will continue to count my EVERY blessing that I have a family that can make me feel at home wherever we go or however many times I have to pack boxes.

We're leaving together, But still it's farewell.. It's the final countdown

We have made it to December. We should be just concentrating on Christmas and decorations, but I'm finding it hard to psych myself up for Violet's first Christmas being that we have to break it all down within a matter of weeks to pack up for Thule/Pagosa Springs.

Since hearing the news of Scott's orders, I keep reminding myself that when he and I discussed the possibilities of what could happen in our first years of marriage, this was definitely a possible reality. And I also keep reminding myself that a year is not that long, especially when factoring in Scott's leave time, the visits to my parents' and the support I'll be getting from my sister and her network of mothers. And yet, the freaking out is starting to set in.

It's partially because we are now in the month before all of the crazy transitioning is going to happen. It's also partially because Scott and I got to see the house I'll be living in Pagosa Springs. And another part is due to the great progress we made over the weekend in clearing the garage from all of the random boxes from my move from TN, Scott's move from ND and our move from the first apartment he and I shared across town. We have whittled things down to very manageable groupings of "stuff" and I feel better prepared for the packing that will happen after the Christmas holidays (and after the short trip to KY to visit with Scott's family.)

But something else set me off this past weekend. The reality of a year apart. The realizations that things will be slightly (if not significantly) harder than I'm believing (pretending?) it to be. A day sidelined by hurt feelings, stewing about it and the eventual discussion and a so-so resolution. I'm still trying to get over it, but my own self-image problems (I'm still about 20-30 lbs away from where I'd like to be), in addition to me being mad at myself for being so ticked off by the origin of the hurt feelings. All in all, I'm starting to question my confidence.

I know I'm just allowing myself the freak out in the hopes that if I mostly get it out of my system now, I won't be crippled by it when things need to get done. People have asked if I'll be ok and I'd say, "sure, no problem" and a really good friend called me separately and gently asked again "are you sure", knowing that sometimes a PR line is not the whole truth. I said, "yes", and I still think I was telling the truth at the time. It's still mostly the truth now.


The the other part is that I'm starting to definitely freak the f-- out and letting the slightly small things get me down.