zephyrofgod | (no subject)

I am marginally happier.

In the chance the boys aren't going home, I have a way home. (thank you,

corros.)

I'm just ready to go home. Christmas without being with my family is just something I don't want to think about. It's something I've done for a quarter of a century. And while we've never had big Christmases (Mom was the sole provider for many of those Christmases), it was always something to be happy for.

I love socks. It's almost at the point of obsession. Really. For many years, Mom could afford pretty much a toy, a book or two, socks, and underwear. Maybe a pair of jeans. And that was for each of us. (Christmases usually aren't big. And I'm okay with that.) The sock obsession didn't show up until late middle school. I got sick of plain white socks, and I told Mom that socks of any kind would just rock.

So, since then, I've gotten crazy socks. Stripes, prints, toe, etc. I've gotten socks for Christmas. It's earned a permanent spot on my Christmas list. (And, it's definitely proving the joy in the little things. I still get a bigger kick out of giving Christmas to my family.)

I'm just glad to be with my family. Even if the boys don't make it (which could happen...I just doubt it will), I'll still be home.

Now, to drink my dark chocolate hot cocoa. It's delish.