The Wolf, Himself

 I love Christmas. I always have. I love the traditions, the tree, decorations, stockings, Christmas dinner, family gatherings. I love presents, getting and giving. I love old classic Christmas movies and Christmas music. I love driving around on Christmas Eve looking at Christmas lights while drinking hot cocoa. I love the one present on Christmas Eve, and then sneaking out to put things in stockings. I love the anticipation of sneaking around with gifts, while trying not to find my own. I mean... At least I used to.  This isn't sudden. Not really. Christmas has gotten harder as the kids have gotten older. I think it probably started to get hard when it got to be too much to go home for Christmas. It was a lot easier to enjoy the Christmas traditions when there were all of the people who always made it special. And even at first, it wasn't bad to spend Christmas with just my immediate family, my wife and my kids. We'd send off gifts to other family, and we'd get videos...

 So this is something that is not a new realization, but... kind of is? Let's lay the groundwork.  I hate being misunderstood. It's one of the most frustrating things to me. I will use too many words to try to avoid it, too few words to avoid obfuscating it, but in the end, misunderstanding is always my destiny.  Earlier today, I was having a discussion with my wife. She kept asking me questions then cutting me off when I tried to answer which didn't help my frustration any. I blew up and started yelling in order to be heard, which didn't help her frustration any. But then we got into a dynamic that frequently happens where she would say something, and I would cut her off.  At this point in our marriage, I rarely concern myself with how often we cut each other off during arguments or even just spirited discussion. I've accepted that it's a part of how we communicate, and though it's certainly not healthy, we've survived it for over a decade. Today I got ...