‘Three years shy of thirty’

For one reason or another, my parents’ house is full tonight: Mom, Dad, my brother, me, my sister, my nephews, and my grandmother. I was originally slated to sleep with Grandmaw, which was old hat after last week in the mountains, but she left her C-Pap machine at home and is snoring off and on and, I tell you what, despite the fact that I am a snorer myself, I just absolutely cannot sleep with a snorer. So I find myself downstairs, in front of the tree, basking in the glow and the strong scent of air freshener, hidden in the room to mask the smell of dog piss (our esteemed domestic friends find the formal living room to be their toilet of choice). It’s kinda giving me a headache, or maybe it’s the Moscato finally wearing off, or maybe I’m having a sugar crash. You can only eat so many chocolate-covered pretzels before your body begins to revolt.

Sleep isn’t going to find me very easily. This level of the house may be devoid of snorers, but it’s brimming with things that click and clack and chime and ding and, in the case of the Civil War cannon clock, go “ka-BOOM” (which actually really sounds more like “ka-PEW!”). Every hour on the hour, an unholy racket of trinketry will be unleashed. I’m honestly thinking of going around and disabling the more obnoxious clocks. Just set their batteries on the table and leave a Post-It. I can’t imagine that people wouldn’t understand.

Tonight I got to go to the family’s annual Christmas Eve gathering at my grandmother’s house for the first time since I started working in Memphis four years ago. I sacrificed Thanksgiving Day so I could have Christmas Eve and Day off. And sure enough, things went well and were drama-free. Phew. I laughed my ass off when my aunt Freudian slipped and cajoled, “So, you got a woman?!” I am, after all, getting to that age where, unless you can provide pretty consistent proof of your heterosexuality, people start to wonder.

My mom rushed over to me shortly after midnight to wish me happy birthday (she always tries to be the first), and was a bit incredulous when she found out some friends had already beaten her to it by texting me. When my dad wished me the same, he made sure to wait a beat and remind me, “You’re just three years shy of thirty,” before laughing at me.

There’s a part of me that wants to get worked up about that, but 27 ain’t so bad and I’ve got the rest of my life to get worked up about getting old. Why do it now?

Tomorrow I’m making breakfast and I’m going to watch the nephews (and everyone else, of course) open presents, and open some of my own. Then we’ll have a big dinner and some birthday cake, and lie around the house all day playing with our new toys. It’s like a well-worn sock, this Christmas thing we do. A well-worn red-and-white-striped sock.

Here’s hoping everyone has a Christmas full of warmth — of every kind.