A few weeks ago, a 5-year-old friend of Maria's spent the night with us. They played dress-up, they danced, they played musical instruments, and they even read to each other before bedtime. It was the loveliest of evenings, and I so enjoyed listening in on them as they chattered.

And while I had worried there might be typical girl trouble, the two got along famously. I didn't have to stick my nose into their business even once. Maybe that is because this friend is a pretty laid-back kid. I was shocked a few times when I asked her do to something – like wash her hands before dinner and brush her teeth before bed – and she actually went and did it. No questions asked. No delay tactics.

Today wraps up a long and more eventful-than-I-would-have-liked Winter school break for the kids. Normally, I am one of those moms who loves the breaks. I like the relaxed flow of the day. I enjoy not being stressed about getting each child from one place to another and actually remembering which one goes where at what time. Yes, for us, a couple of weeks without strict structure helps each of us unwind a bit.

I love Christmas. I love everything about it, even when the demanding schedules and self-imposed expectations occasionally send me into a momentary tailspin. The week leading up to Christmas, I feel like I could pop right open with the anticipation and joy of the whole big event.

The day arrives, and the world (or at least my living room) explodes into a frenzy of gift wrap and candy-cane-shaped M&M containers and (give-those-to-me-RIGHT-NOW-so-you-don’t-lose-them) gift cards. And socks, of course. They don’t especially have anything to do with Christmas, but where two or more of my children are gathered, there will be mismatched sock explosions in their midst.

And then it’s over.

In 2007, I made a goal on this blog to listen to my kids and really pay attention to them. It was a good goal and a good year, and having that idea in the back of my mind really helped me grow in my mothering relationship, especially with Laylee. Magoo wasn’t saying much I could pay attention to at the time, anyway. Of course, now he says plenty.

In 2008, I didn’t really set a major parenting goal, and although I’ve made little course corrections along the way, I’ve missed having one driving focus.

I'm sure not ALL of us are in bed recovering from last night's merrymaking. Some of us probably went to bed at ten and slept through the fireworks and got up at six with the baby. Right? For all of you, here are my hopes for 2009: The Year of Awesome.

It is the sad truth – I went into this season a little Scrooge-y. Too much work, too much recession, too much news about friends loosing jobs. And, to top it off, too cold for Tennessee. If my husband and daughter had not gone into the attic to fetch Christmas decorations, I may have left them up there yet one more season.

Horrible, I know. The mother of a 5-year-old isn't allowed to cancel Christmas.

It’s not very often you have a night so absolutely perfect you want to turn it over in your head again and again. I had a night like that last weekend, and I raced home to write it all down.

When snow comes to Seattle, things shut down. Any amount of snow, really, leads to school closures, road closures, delayed mail delivery, canceled garbage pickup, and commencement of friendly whining banter with neighbors. If any of the white stuff makes its way to the ground, we all stand around in amazement with our feet chilled in the 2 inches of snow on our driveways. “Can you believe all this SNOW? In WINTER? Weird, right?”

The Baby Jesus was born today. Well, not today, but, you know, some 2000 years ago. For the last several weeks, I've been reading Jack the Christmas story and lifting him up to get a view of the nativity scene on our mantel. "There's Mary, there's Joseph, there's the Baby Jesus," I say slowly, pointing out each wooden character. And then he lunges for the manger, knocking all the pieces to the floor and Baby Jesus winds up lost under the couch.

There was a story in the paper a week or so ago about the "heart home.''

It is the place you think of as "home'' even if you haven't lived there in a long, long time.

I have lived in a handful of places, and this year marked my 17th in Nashville, which means I have lived here one year longer than I did my heart home, Miami, the city of my childhood and where I have spent more Christmases than anywhere else.