That's It? It's Over?

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In the Fazzolari household we do a pretty good job of just ripping through the food.

Then we whip through the presents.

And hammer down the desserts.

I kept thinking of Neil Young's song, Like A Hurricane yesterday.

And there was a point in the party at our house yesterday where two little kids - I'd put them at about 3 and 4 - were ripping up wrapping paper and throwing it in the air.

I thought about yelling for them to stop. After all, I'd be cleaning it up.

But I just let them go.

Partially because I was too tired - cooking for 40 or so isn't as easy as it used to be - but mostly because they were having a great time.

And my boys had a great time too. All the presents! I don't know how my beautiful wife pulls off gathering all of it.

But it truly is the love that you feel that stays longer than any gift that you received.

I'll soon be getting mustard all over the new clothes I unwrapped.

"These are good socks," Kathy said. "You won't get holes in them."

Wanna' bet?

So the gifts sorta' don't matter.

Instead I just walked around and observed everything.

From the crying, laughing and yelling kids at our house on Christmas Day (it looked like an episode of Romper Room), to the gathering at Mom's.

The game of scat.

Seeing Jeter and hearing him bark because he couldn't be with all of us because he can't walk!

The older kids playing beer pong.

Finding half a Pop Tart on a chair in my living room.

Taking it all in.

And a funny thing happened when I closed my eyes after everyone had left.

I didn't dream of any of it.

Instead.

I woke this morning feeling good.

My dreams had been dominated by my Dad and my brother, Jeff.

Guess they were saying Merry Christmas!

That's it? It's Over?

Nope.

It's never over.

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