Back to normal, I hope.

I took all the decorations down yesterday, with help from Fred and Jessica. This is a Good Year for holiday decorations, in that I had lots of time to sort through all six -- count 'em, 6 -- boxes and organize them so that I know where everything is. One box for lights, indoor and outdoor, even though we didn't do any outdoor lighting this year. One box for decorations that do not coordinate with next year's theme, now marked "Archive - checked 1/2012 -AE - Box 6 of 6".  This will only seem excessive to those of you who have not unloaded an international shipping container, or four.

 Christmas in the red boxes; Easter in the pink box; Halloween in the orange boxes. Lovely.

I also did what I do on good years, and wrote myself a letter for next Christmas. I put it in an envelope, wrote a reminder on the front to open it on November 1, 2012, and buried it in the bottom of my In Tray.  In it, I told myself sternly to get started on holiday preparations early. "Make mince pies in November",  I said. "Buy more candles", "Remember you have two spare presents in Box 1" and "Preserves were good idea for teacher presents".  I used to get really excited and make lists of knitted gifts I was going to start on in June, but I am more realistic now.

It makes me feel a little apprehensive this year too, hoping that nothing untoward will have happened by the time I open it. By November, Fred will be in school, Lucy in college, and I hope I will be a good third of the way through a masters degree. But things might not go so smoothly. I had a big birthday in November -- not a big number, just big to me. Big in that I am a little amazed by the number 47. Since I've been a nurse, I've become all too aware of what the far side of the hill (as in "over the hill") looks like. I'm not there yet by some way, but I can see it.  In gloomier 47 moments, I think all we can hope for is to avoid disaster, in health, housing or finances. But fortunately, most gloomy moments are interrupted by someone sticking a YouTube video under my nose, "Mum, you've got to see this", or by someone else presenting me with a drawing of a dog, sort of, with "I ruff you" scrawled on it in large stick letters.

In good 47 moments, I remember that I'm old enough to know what I want. I'm old enough to skim shamelessly through bookclub selections that aren't worth reading; to listen to the parenting trials of my younger BabyMama friends with patience and detachment, reminding myself that I've been at this business since they were in high school. I'm old enough to recognize my own flight responses, which are particularly strong after a hot dry summer when all my plants died, and do not mean that we need to move to Los Angeles the minute Jessica graduates from high school. And I'm pathetic enough to take pleasure in six labeled boxes of Christmas decorations stacked in order of access priority waiting for next November.