And I really, really like my neighbours. So losing their respect was no small thing.

Somehow, in the last hour before departure time, I managed to scrape it all together. Bags packed, car loaded, dishes done, last load of laundry humming away in the dryer, kids happy and bundled in snow gear, Neil picked up from work, last of the Christmas cards mailed off, and so forth. Yes, the floors were a grimey mess and the girls had trashed their bedrooms as I was loading the car, and I winced a bit as I locked up the house for the next two weeks, but the relief of leaving my To Do List behind was poignant indeed.

That relief carried me through the next two weeks quite happily. As I visited friends and family, I helped out a bit here and there. There’s something about that sort of housework that I rather enjoy. I remember smiling as I vacuumed my parent’s house one day. Smiling! There wasn’t that feeling of overwhelming urgency I so often feel at home. Rushing about from one task to the other. Panicked. Feeling my heart pounding as a churning swirl of thoughts batter me relentlessly, smacking me square between the eyes with everything I ought to have done, everything that needed to be done, everything that I feared woud never be done.

There was something timeless about our vacation this year. The days melded together quite blissfully, in fact. There was time. Finally, there was time. To just be. To cuddle up with my girls and read them a story without niggling little worries creeping into the back of my mind. To walk hand in hand with my sweetheart as our girls clambered up and slid down snow banks on a deserted street. To visit with those I miss oh so desperately. To watch bemusedly as my daughters played with their cousins and remembered how much they love and enjoy them all over again.

And now I am home. And I don’t have that feeling of exquisite relief that I usually do. I feel vaguely regretful. I miss my family. I miss the time I felt I had while away. I’m incredibly glad to be back in my own bed, to have the hope of a routine for my overtired children again, and to reconnect with some friends I only have online contact with. Oh yes, I missed some of you dreadfully!

But as I drove the long last stretch of road home, my mind was overcome by ideas for what to write next. I wasn’t thinking in blog posts though. I was thinking in chapters. Blogging is still important to me, but there are other things. Steps on the road leading to long dreamt dreams.

I find myself now, pondering the chaos that is my home, and my life. I’m aware of certain steps I can take to create the sort of home and life I find myself keenly desiring. And I’m no longer loathe to take those steps. The thought of going to bed earlier and waking earlier isn’t quite so repugnant now. Neither is blogging less and living more. The very idea of that used to be enough to set me to twitching. But I’ve found that in giving the gift of two blogging free weeks to my husband, I gave myself a gift as well. The gift of insight and perspective.

The “real” world is a sweet, sweet place. If we take the time to make it so. That’s what the New Year is going to be about for me. Taking that time.

And I feel no need to tack any qualifying statements onto that. No talk of trying, and “we’ll see how long that lasts.” I am feeling strangely hopeful. Expectant even. Who knew that for me, the difference between pessimism and optimism would be a two week Christmas vacation?

For the detail oriented, here’s the plan. I will write blog posts Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and read blogs on Tuesday and Thursdays, saving the weekends exclusively for my family. Oh, and tune in later today for pictures. Cheers!

I gave him a promise. A promise of no blogging for two full weeks. Well may you gasp! What’s strange though, is that I’ve offered similar (smaller) promises in the past, and dreaded the fulfilling of them. This time? Not so much with the dreading. I’m actually looking forward to some concentrated family time. Getting away from my safe little comfort zone and experiencing life a bit more. Hermit-like Housewifedom gets a bit wearing after awhile, and I’m eager to branch out a bit.

Normally? Being away from home = stress/panic/hyperventilation. No, that equation is not an exaggeration either.

I feel calmer this time round though. It’s a bit surreal, to be honest. Heaven knows I’ll be carrying a notebook and pen everywhere I go over the next few weeks. And come January I’ll frown at it in consternation, trying to make sense of a) my increasingly illegible scrawl and b) my meandering thought processes.

Anyway, it’s been a crazy ride this year. A lot of changing done. Growing, regressing, fighting, struggling, grieving, laughing, loving, shouting, dancing, squealing, pondering, singing, and…of course, blogging about it all.

I’m so grateful for you all. The silent readers. The faithful and intermittent commenters. The poor souls who chance upon this page at random and get who knows what inflicted upon them. It’s all still a bit mind-boggling to me, this sense of community so many of us share.

I’ll tell you this much - my BlogHer ads revenue (such as it is) is going into an airfare fund. Oh yes. There are some of you I simply must meet some day.

Till that day…may the season bring you much joy, and a myriad of memory-making moments.

Much love,

Kim