Vintage Holiday

Remember the excitement of opening that one special gift on Christmas eve--each year, a new pair of flannel jammies to make you feel warm, excited and ready for the wonder that will surely come the next morning? Falling asleep, after that last cookie and glass of milk, being tucked in by Mom and Dad. Dreams of extra-special surprises dance in your head as you drift off to a sugar plum sleep? A distant memory, right?

On Christmas eve--this year--I found myself being ordered to brush my teeth before bed. I stood in the mirror, checking out the strange amalgamation of emerging blemishes, potential wrinkles, and what might be another gray hair reflecting in the mirror. Christmases past flashed before my eyes, and I was 6-9-12 then suddenly 40 standing in my freshly unwrapped Betty Boop Christmas pajamas. Oh the irony!

While my friends are tucking in their children, or being wisked off to bed by boyfriends, I found myself being tucked in by my parents in a Christmas time-warp this year. I've given in to accepting the love and comfort they give. I admit, finally after a lifetime of being the jilted middle child, I am absolutely spoiled by my parents.

It must be weird to a couple married almost 50 years to fathom my still singleness. I think their hearts were as broken as mine. I know they wish I could learn to handle the delicious freedom that often feels, simply, starkly lonely.

We all, for a moment, wonder how so many people we know are broken up, divorced, dating, and co-habituating since last Christmas, and I am still flying solo.

It perplexes all branches of the family--after all, I the first to marry, the picture of marital perfection. I was born to be married. Speaking in terms of "I" is still difficult after 17 years as a "we".

"Why aren't you dating anyone? I would think you would be quite the catch." my brother-in-law asks each Christmas Eve. After four previous years, I wise up--I'm ready with a clever comeback this time, "Nobody's fast enough to catch me! hehehe!" Ho, ho, ho, everyone laughs. I spend the rest of the evening giggling in the corner with my 12-year old nephew. I make mental note to examine this paradigm--he and I are always paired up at functions, after all, we are the only two without spouses at these affairs. Or is it our maturity level?

My parents stand at the door, as they did so many years ago, look at me lovingly, and turn off the light; in unison they chime, "Sweet dreams, baby," and I fall asleep, dreaming that I'll learn to love the delicious freedom with which I've been blessed.