Back on Track

“Did you write the letter?” Declan asked, eyes wide.

“What letter?”

“The letter to Santa Claus!  The one where you were going to tell him that even though I did some bad things this year, that I was still trying really hard?”

I looked at the fear in the eyes before me and nodded my head.

“Yes, I wrote the letter.  Although I told Santa that I thought you were a very good boy.”

Shoulders relaxed in relief. Declan went on his way.

——

Trash.

So much trash.

In the last two weeks of December I become hypervigilant about one thing.

Trash.

What can be recycled?  What can be squished down a little farther to make a little more room in our can?

And honestly, I eye each person that comes to our house in those weeks and wonder, “Can I ask THIS person to take a bag of trash with them when they leave?”

Because if the trash doesn’t fit in the toter outside when the trash truck comes, then it goes later.

Christmas presents for three kids.  Christmas cooking, baking, eating.

New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day – food, food, food!  In boxes, containers and wrappers.

And THEN – throw in two birthday’s, Bobby and Catelyn’s.  Birthday parties, birthday presents – and yes!  MORE food!

In the last two weeks of December our trash and recycling cans are practically overflowing.  I have calculated how to put the trash in to get the maximum amount inside.  And then keep my fingers double crossed in hopes the wind does blow open an elevated lid to make me run up and down the street collecting my family’s debris from a neighbor’s yard.

It’s a busy time of year.  It is a FUN time of year.

And since Santa saw Declan tried hard this year, he made sure Declan and the other kids had a wonderful Christmas.  And with New Years and the birthdays – there was a whirlwind of celebration.

But all good things come to an end.

Although I get my trash space back, the kids go back to school – much to Declan’s dismay.

This morning I carried the laundry basket down the stairs with a four-foot-tall shadow behind me.

“I don’t want to go back,” Declan sniffled.

He walked into the kitchen and curled into his Dad’s lap while Dad ate his breakfast.

“I don’t want to go back,” he cried.

Dad went to work, and I went to my treadmill for my morning run.  A four-foot-tall little boy wrapped himself as tight as he could in the hammock next to me and teared, “I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK!”

Counter points raised to remember the fun of school while getting Declan dressed and brushing his teeth were met with his reminders why school was awful.

And so, he whimpered as I gave him hugs while we waited for the inevitable bus to take him to school.

Going to school on any given day is a challenge.  Having to transition from his home and preferred activities to school where he feels there is an entire list of challenges and non-preferred activities is hard.

And after being off from school for the last eleven days, well, this transition was going to be a hard one.

I am hopeful he catches the school groove.  Before the break he wasn’t crying everyday about school.  He hadn’t necessarily been eager to go, but it was accepted.  And there were even days he came home with a smile.

But right now, my words fall short in giving him comfort about school.  There are no counterpoints I can make that he will believe.  So, until we can reach that comfort zone again, I’ve got lots of hugs ready to give.