joy.

I was driving through Baptist Hospital on Cloverdale Avenue this week. It was foggy and dark at 4:30, as has been custom in Winston these past few weeks, and I pulled up to the red light in the left turning lane.  All of a sudden I remembered that Christmas is coming, that I'll be in the living room of my family's home with my big old 6 foot 4 inch brother telling me stupid inappropriate jokes, holding a glass of red wine, while my brother-in-law and dad taunt my husband about the recent (pitiful) demonstrations made by his Pittsburgh Steelers.  My mom will be sticking up for him because she thinks that Mark hung the moon and my sister will inevitably be entranced by some Christmas spectacular on the TV while the little Jonathan hangs on Jake, our old golden retriever. 

And when I sat at the light thinking of that scene in my home with my family, whom I love more than anything or anyone on the face of the earth, I actually started to cry.  (Hannah is shaking her head at this, smiling).

That is joy.

Here's another one: our Christmas tree.  It is the most beautiful, brilliant, vivid, psychedelic tree you have ever seen. Colored lights, ridiculous ornaments, "Baby's first Christmas" sled from 1984 (put that one together...) It's absurd, really, and perfect. Six o'clock in the morning is wonderful this month because I get an hour of darkness in the living room with my beautiful bright tree and a cup of coffee and I love it.  

That is joy.

Jonathan. I didn't think I'd ever like a kid as much as I love my nephew. Mark says it's like a drug for me and he is right. I go over there at least once a week to hang out with the kid. He is the best person in the world. Please see the photo posted in the previous entry on the blog.

Friday morning when I was there he was acting drunk, just laughing uncontrollably and stumbling all over the place. I usually end up in laughing fits just being around him.  Anyway, I'm sitting on the ottoman of the comfy chair in the living room and Jonathan waddles over and kind of wraps his arms around my legs and buries his face in my knees, whining.  I pull him up onto my lap and lay my head back into the seat of the chair and he climbs up onto my stomach, flops his head down beside my head and begins to laugh.  His shaking self, stomach on my face, makes me laugh, and apparently it tickles him, so he laughs harder.  Hannah had to come see what in the world was making us laugh so hard because the one-year-old and the twenty-three-year-old literally cannot stop.  

Now that is joy.