It's Christmas, you know, which means it's the season for two things: parties and nostalgia. On Saturday, the mister took care of the first when he took me out for drinks and dancing. And hors devours, which is actually pronounced "horse doovers," in case you didn't know. Anyway, he wore a suit, I danced crazy, and the band played Usher twice. It was a good night. 

This week, I took care of the second activity of the season -- the nostalgia. 

When big, meaningful life changes are headed my way, I want them to appear in a pinata. I want to see that thing dangle perilously in the air and  I want to know that something really wonderful is in there and that all I have to do is beat the bejesus out of that pinata to get to whatever is hiding there. I want to feel the weight of excitement.  And when it's too much,  I want to personally break out the bat, explode that sonuvabish and watch the life change fall like confetti into my waiting, reaching hands. 

Yeah, that. 

This time last year, I was legally single. I had an Opa. I was technically an "early twenty-something," and the little girl whose birth I would personally witness was still an unannounced miracle in her mama's belly. This time last year, I had absolutely no foresight to the way those things would change, but I was wholly aware that surprises were hiding out, less like a pinata and more like a water balloon thrown from the top of a building by naughty ten-year-old punks. I knew, I just didn't know what.  

It'd be kind of stupid to not know. I recognize that I've reached an age in which big things happen by default. People get married. Friends get pregnant----on purpose. We buy houses, get big title jobs, drive new cars, lose parents, become parents, earn a salary....and it just keeps building into this snowball of success and change. It's really remarkable and truly wonderful, but it's change nonetheless, and sometimes change is hard. I knew I was growing up when I began spending more time in heels than flip-flops....and spending more money on heels than flip-flops. 

On Saturday, for the first time, I heard Ryan introduce me to someone as his wife. "This is my wife, Jennifer," he said nonchalantly. No big deal. And maybe because this is Christmas number 6 for us, and his family has long been my family and our holiday agendas have become relatively routine, and change hasn't felt concrete in terms of "the holidays" just yet, it hadn't occurred to me that this is our first married Christmas. 

Mother of God! 

Water balloon, BOOM! Right on my head. My hair is soaking wet.
I'm not prepared!

I need a freakin' parade! And a band! OMG - I NEED A MARCHING BAND. And balloons and glitter and fireworks and maybe someone who can whistle really loudly. We have a big deal on our hands!

Maybe, on another day, when I have more time and less pre-existing text, we can focus on the psychoanalytic reasons for which I positively flip my shit over psuedo momentous occasions like this, and my husband congenially smiles and says "cool," without looking away from the TV. What's that thing...um..oh right, -- opposites attract. 

Me, dramatic. Him, not so much. Also, lazor eyes. 

Anyway, for years, because I'm a sucker for trends and letters, I have bought these simple little ornaments "J" and "R" in a variety of styles. One set is candy cane, red and white striped. Another set is tightly knitted and squishy in green and red. This year, I bought only one. I bought an "H." 

You know, there's an unfathomable difference in knowing that change can and will come and then actually living the change. I'm scared to jinx myself, so I'm just going to whisper this next part -- what can 2014 possibly bring with it? 

Nope, that wasn't a challenge! Honest!

***

And so, I am actively working towards closing up another year. I'll wrap it up, put on the prettiest bow I can find, and stuff it under the Christmas tree -- a gift of good memories for the rest of forever. Things.Will.Change. Somehow, they'll continue to change even more and although I can't see them yet, I know they're lurking in there somewhere. Maybe in the third week of March, or the middle of July -- wherever they are, I know they're waiting for me to stumble upon them. 

But you know what? Maybe they'll be wonderful, and maybe they'll be the what fills up next year's "good memory gift box." Either way, they'll be waiting. 

***

Merry Christmas all!

And if you like a good advent calendar, here's my gift for you today, as you pop open the door that says "17" --

Photo bombing Jayco! (Sorry it's not chocolate!)