Ya Gotta Get Up

In slightly over 24 hours, the speakers in our house will be blasting our Christmas tradition - a song whose refrain is, "Ya gotta get up, it's Christmas morning."

I'm ready - mostly. There are presents wrapped and under the tree. The refrigerator is stocked with everything we'll need. (Oops, except for the bacon for breakfast. Where's the dang list so I can write it down?) We have a plan for church and dinner tonight to work around the baby's schedule.

But this year, I feel like my children have mentally moved on. Meredith is spending Chrismas Eve with her significant other and his family. Dana is here physically, but is so stressed under the expectations she's ready to get back to "her" life. Bailey has been mentally oved out since she went to Paraguay three summers ago. That's in a good way. She's always taken charge of her life. And my 18-year-old baby, Adam, is well, an 18-year-old boy. When we assured him that there would not be an X-box under the tree this year as requested, the girlfriend provided it instead.

Don't get me wrong. Good for her for being able to afford to give him such a nice token of her affection. But it also seems to be a symbol of the fact that he no longer looks solely to us for his biggest needs and desires.Not sure that it's good that he's looking to someone else (rather than himself), but he's beginning to look outside his home for that fulfillment. Bittersweet.

So when I hear "Ya gotta get up," blaring over the speakers, in my heart I will be praying that the kids aren't hearing "I gotta get out."