Christmas is never easy, the day after is so much less tiring - no worries with the food or trees or presents or kids or parents or church parking or calming the f*** down or fitting a horde into a kitchen or a living room or a toilet or a bedroom and so on endlessly. After Christmas night everything just calms down, and the parents are friends again, and the brother got his sleep, and the kids are not bored, and your mind is hushed, lulled asleep with cakes and candles and so much hot beverages.
And you get to drive to south to check on the summer cottage and walk, or rather tread in the white softness between the snow-coated apple trees and climb the cellar stairs for some pickles. You get to spend the slowest evening making lemon curd with so much love - and it is too much - and then you find out OF COURSE it could never be too much, it is lemon curd, after all. And the church is not annoying today for your inner atheist, because the little kids reading the gospel are just interesting enough, and in truth you get to sing most of the time anyway since it is a perfectly Lutheran church.
And you get to wear the panties Santa brought you. Which is sort of hilarious. And you can think a lot about winter solstice and days of darkness and mythologies and so on, and you almost don't notice the restlessness that wants to whisper about some other things you would like to do. The day is enough as it is.
Häid jõule meile siis.
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