White Christmas

For the first time since I moved to California I finally got my white Christmas.  I had to go to Oregon to get and I missed seeing my family, but at least I got it.   And not just left over snow from the storm that dropped the most snow in 40 years; it actually snowed big fat snow flakes on Christmas day.  Beautiful.

And that storm that I mentioned?  It almost kept us familyless and presentless in Southern California.  Snow is okay to fly through; freezing rain, not so much.  All week we’d been watching weather forecasts for the Portland area to see if we would make to Wes’ home for Christmas.  All looked good for our Wednesday morning departure.  But then our plane was delayed and with the window of good weather being so small on that Christmas Eve, we were both a bit worried.  The plane finally arrived, about 30 minutes after we were scheduled to leave.  Shouts of glee from all passengers.

Queue suspenseful pause because we all know that things are hardly so simple.

Over the loudspeaker we hear, “Portland is closed due to freezing rain.  We will update you in 45 minutes.”

45 minutes crawl by as we wonder if we’re going to have to make a surprise trip to my aunt and uncle’s for the big day.  Luckily we didn’t have to worry about a back up plan.  Our flight crew was from the Portland area and wanted to get back there as much as the passengers did.  The captain, having just flown out of PDX, convinced the Santa Ana airport to let us leave.  It was, hands down, the fastest loading of a plane I have ever experienced.  There was no lollygagging at the overhead compartments; people shoved their bags in, sat down and buckled up and before you know it, we’re in the air.

We called Wes’ sister as soon as we landed to make sure that she and her family made it out for the celebration, which meant two days sleeping on a cot while her husband slept on the couch and the new baby slept in her pak and play.

Oh yes, the baby.  So cute.  Adorable chubby cheeks that seem so large compared to her tiny little hands and feet.  I wonder if that’s what people thought about me, My what large cheeks she has? Probably, they were huge.

She was such a quiet baby, crying only when she was hungry.  Everything about her was adorable – her stretching, yawning  and sneezing – or funny – farting.  The new dad forgot to put a diaper on her and she peed all over her grandma.  I’m just glad it wasn’t me because I’m not sure I would have been so calm about it.  I mean, no one likes getting peed on, but I think parents come to sort of expect that it happens once in a while.  I still haven’t wrapped my head around that.

Of course after being around a baby (any baby) and living with your boyfriend and being with said boyfriend for three years, the baby questions start coming.  “Don’t you want one?”  “Watch out Wes, she’s got baby fever.”  “What about you two?  Any time soon?”

No!  No!  and No!  Absolutely not any time soon.  Some people are made for young parenthood.  We are not those people.  We live in a tiny apartment in Southern California no where near our immediate family.  I like to hold babies and look at their cute hands and feet.  I like to let them sleep on my chest and buy them cute tiny shoes.  When they’re happy.  When they’re unhappy I like to do, um, none of those things.  I like to give them back to mom and dad when they scream and flail.  I emphatically do not want to be the mom.  I take steps to make sure that that’s a long way out.

Of course there were presents.  The main thing from Wes’ family was a Wii with just about every conceivable attachment one would ever need.  From my family there was the camping gear and bike shoes that I asked for.  And we’re so looking forward to camping every month this year.  To see all that we can of Southern California before we leave for good.

While I love visiting family (even if it’s not technically my family) I think the best part about any vacation is coming home.  They say home is where the heart is, but after this weekend I’m convinced that home is where your bed is.

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