Making a list, chucking it out

I'm sitting in the kitchen watching birds flit back and forth to the feeder and I'm trying not to think about The Lists.

You know The Lists I'm talking about: The List of people to whom I need to send thank-you notes. The List of holiday stuff that needs to be stashed away for another year. The List of household chores to get my house shipshape before the semester stars. And of course, The Most Daunting List of All: everything I need to do to prepare my spring semester classes. Normally I'd be halfway through that List by now but our extended winter break gives me more time: classes start January 18 but meetings start before then, and where did I put The List of essential meetings?

I don't want to think about it. Looking at all those Lists feels like walking away from Christmas way too soon, while carols are still playing and tinsel is still sparkling. Instead, let's take a look back at some moments I'm not yet ready to relegate to my mind's attic:

For days our oldest granddaughter kept begging for a white Christmas--"I've never had a white Christmas in my whole entire life!!" (She's seven.) And she got her wish: snow began to fall heavily on Christmas Eve, just in time to make driving to the evening church service treacherous, but we all made it home and watched the snow fall from the safety of a warm house, where the kitchen was brimming with cookies and eggnog.

Next day we opened gifts, of course, with the other set of grandparents observing via video call. Gifts were thoughtful and unexpected, from a lighted magnifying glass so I can read recipes in the kitchen to a roof rack so we can carry the canoe on my husband's newish car. Not a bathrobe in sight. 

I'm glad I remembered to bring over my boots because all that snow was beckoning the grandkids, who found that eight inches of soft, fluffy snow did not make the idea surface for sledding but it was fun all the same. Afterward we warmed up with hot chocolate and before you know it the house was full of people napping--on the sofa, on the beds, even a few on the floor of the living room. The evening got raucous again when we played a round of Poetry for Neanderthals, with the grandkids expertly wielding the No Stick to beat up anyone who used words of more than one syllable. Just a bit of advice: if you're trying to get your team to say the word "syrup," saying "Comes from trees" is probably not the best place to start. 

And then the next day they all went away, taking their Legos and snow pants and baby dolls with them. The house is tidy and quiet now, which allows the demands of the next couple of weeks to loom large in my mind. Which comes first: writing thank-you notes, cleaning bathrooms, or setting up online gradebooks? 

I think I'll just sit here and look at the birds.