I can't wait for it to be time to go home for Christmas.  I haven't seen Sister Little or Rock Star Boyfriend since September and July, respectively.  I see my parents quite a bit, but it seems like the more I see them, the harder it is to leave every time.

Every year I write a Christmas poem that I send to family.  I started doing it my first year out of college - 1996, to date me - because at that time I was too poor to afford Christmas cards.  I made $18,000 a year and paid $300 a month in rent.  I remember I couldn't even go on extra errands because I had to ration my gas to make the weekly commute to the next town over, where I faxed things for a living as an assistant account executive at a public relations agency.

So here is this year's poem.  Season's Greetings, Internet.  Merry Christmas.  Happy Hanukkah.  Holy shit.

Understanding Love

Christmas 2005

Scientists found the molecule

that produces romantic love;

its effect effervescent for only one year

before the brain grows numb.

Ribbons, wrappings, receipts and coupons

I let weigh more than deserved.

Years passed without anticipation

of more than getting through

December.

In the stores, my daughter shrieks with delight

at the sight of a twenty-foot tree.

Her grasping, tiny, pudgy hands

seize everything she sees.

As we walk, we swing her in between us,

connected by who we’ve made.

Love, from soul or chemical reaction,

repeats passion already played.

My mind, how quickly it needs a hit

of objects or fame or love,

and shocking how fast it can be reset

by these people who are my home.

Well, we made it.  And a good time was had by all.  Inexplicably, the little angel slept through the night both nights we were in Lawler, but not in the hotel on the way there and not in her own crib last night.  There are a few theories about this:

• She was sleeping in a pack-n-play right next to my side of the bed in Lawler.  She could look up and see me if she woke up.
• It was very, very dark in the room.
• It is very quiet in the middle of nowhere from 2:30-4 a.m., when she usually wakes up.  No sirens, no dogs barking, no Ghetto Bird, no trains.
• She was covered with a Magic Quilt.
• She was in the same room with her new friend, Plastic Fire Hat.
• She was exhausted from All That Fun.

• She was lulled to sleep by the insulation of thirty years of stuff stacked in rooms around her.

Not sure which of these is the reason, but dang it, she slept well.  I ran out this morning to buy new nightlights that are not quite so bright. We will test these one by one to see if they help.  I can almost taste that unfettered sleep, that bliss of waking at 6:30 a.m. feeling as though I'd had two REM cycles.  Damn it, I want it back!

Well, we made it.  And a good time was had by all.  Inexplicably, the little angel slept through the night both nights we were in Lawler, but not in the hotel on the way there and not in her own crib last night.  There are a few theories about this:

• She was sleeping in a pack-n-play right next to my side of the bed in Lawler.  She could look up and see me if she woke up.
• It was very, very dark in the room.
• It is very quiet in the middle of nowhere from 2:30-4 a.m., when she usually wakes up.  No sirens, no dogs barking, no Ghetto Bird, no trains.
• She was covered with a Magic Quilt.
• She was in the same room with her new friend, Plastic Fire Hat.
• She was exhausted from All That Fun.

• She was lulled to sleep by the insulation of thirty years of stuff stacked in rooms around her.

Not sure which of these is the reason, but dang it, she slept well.  I ran out this morning to buy new nightlights that are not quite so bright. We will test these one by one to see if they help.  I can almost taste that unfettered sleep, that bliss of waking at 6:30 a.m. feeling as though I'd had two REM cycles.  Damn it, I want it back!