It’s the night before Christmas, and we have a house. A real house. I can barely even type those words without tearing up, without being completely overcome by a cocktail of emotions that include relief and joy and a sense of hope. Our kitchen, which comprises a good third of our house, is now functional. Really and truly functional.
To celebrate, I cooked the first real meal (that hasn't come from a neighbor's house or a restaurant) we've had in I don't know how long. I roasted a chicken, and then because I had space to do more than one thing, and the knowledge that WE COULD WASH THE DISHES AFTERWARDS, I made gravy. And THEN! I made stuffing. AND THEN!!! I made a salad. After I cooked everything, we washed the dishes IN NO TIME FLAT and it wasn't A BIG DEAL, because WE HAVE HOT RUNNING WATER AND IT IS THE GREATEST LUXURY IN THE WORLD.
I am so grateful. So very burnt out and tired, but grateful, too. I feel like we've been slogging through a horrible tunnel, and now we can at least see the light at the end of it. The best Christmas gifts of all? Our fridge works. Our sink works. Our oven works. Our faucet spews out hot running water.
It's basically a Christmas miracle.