Saturday, and all’s well.

It’s all been standard here. Exactly as I expected. Mom and I met Aunt to do some shopping yesterday. We made it through three stores before I started to whine.

“I’m hungry,” I offered, briefly distracted by a display of sporting goods. Mom chose a 13 year old boy from the mitten tree ornaments, and she had an idea of what she wanted for him. But then I remembered, and finished with “Who would like to buy me breakfast?”

We finished our shopping at that particular store, checking out and receiving a discounted teddy bear, then headed to get donuts. I do like donuts here up north. It took another store for the sugar to kick in, but then I was good for another few hours.

We didn’t buy a tremendous amount – none of us needed much, so we focused on bargains and items we needed regardless of sales. But we laughed and stood in line. Played Mom’s favorite Christmas CD in the car and watched the people bustle around.

Then it was home for leftovers and out again to pick up a Christmas watch for Mom. We had a small car accident after that. The highlight? Mom’s remark to the extremely young looking officer.

“I have one more question for you.” She said, handing the incident report and printed information sheet behind her. I placed it on the seat behind me as Dad talked to Brother on the phone. We were late to pick up Little One already.

“Sure.” He said easily, standing patiently beside the Jeep.

“Why don’t you have partners anymore?” She asked sweetly, and I rolled my eyes and ducked my head, grateful for the tinted windows for the backseat. Though we had discussed that issue while waiting for him to talk to the person who hit us, then fill out his report, I hadn’t expected her to ask. Though perhaps I should have.

I’ve enjoyed being with them. We’ve cooked, cleaned and eaten. Shopped, organized and watched television. Sleeping is the hard part – Sprout is very busy at night and wakes each of us in turn.

Today was finally time to be lazy. I’ve napped twice and will head to bed early. We stayed in until taking Dad for dinner – it is his birthday and he wanted steak. We returned home to load Christmas paraphernalia from the basement to the living room. There is now a tree in the corner, waiting for lights and ornaments. Puffy Christmas characters are in a pile on the floor – they’ll end up perched along the front entertainment center. The ceramic Santa Mom painted reigns in one corner, but his reindeer friend remains in her box. The pine cone wreath is hanging on the closet door but the angel is on the table, waiting to stand guard outside the front door. Wrapping paper, boxes, the nativity scene, decorative towels, dishes and miscellaneous items in red, green and gold remain safely in gray boxes lined across the front of the room.

Mom is thrilled to have me around – I like seeing her smile when I walk in a room, remembering stories she wanted to tell me, continuing to drag out gifts she wanted me to see. (She has a Tickle Me Elmo. I was suitably impressed – she preened with pride. My mother is adorable.) Dad desperately wants to hold the cat, but has so far been allowed to pet and feed him while all four paws remain firmly on the floor. It’s good to be here – to have Little One reach for me when she wants to be held. I love, love, love her. Which is a welcome change from when I normally think “I hate, hate, hate [insert irritating event or person].”

But now Little One has gone home. Mom and Dad are asleep down the hall, Chienne is resting on the couch and Sprout has been offended by multiple squirts from the spray bottle when he was just looking at that tree in the corner (I saw him pawing at it, but received glares after squirting him regardless). It’s quiet and a bit cluttered. And I’m writing a blog post in which I have nothing really to share. I’m enjoying my time at home, content knowing I have a few more days before I need to pack the car to head south.

I’ve had moments of sadness, but they’ve been outnumbered by the times I’ve wanted to sleep. I’ve had moments of irritation when checking work email (one review board is just messing with my mind. I really think so!) and twinges of the feeling that I really should try to get some work done on the grant or a couple projects for which I’d like to write abstracts in the near future. Perhaps I’ll lie down on the toy room floor, post this, then return to my spot near the tree (equipped with spray bottle, of course) to get something professional done. But there’s nothing dramatic – no dream journal, no devotionals (that’s not good, actually), and my walk this morning was with a little girl and pink hippo in a stroller. It doesn’t leave a tremendous amount of time for self-pity. Which is a really good thing, I think.

At least for now.