It's two days until the holiday,
And I'm breathless with anxiety,
Just trying to get home,
As the traffic engulfs me,
And grinds to a halt,
As all propriety ceases,
And the cheerful shoppers,
Take on menacing looks;
They'll run you over in a second,
And if you think I'm kidding,
Just try them.

We'll not have Christmas this year,
By mutual decree.
A day off, or two,
Will be just as good.
The kids, well, they're long gone,
On an ocean far away,
And they aren't even kids anymore,
So what's the use?
Christmas is for kids,
Or so I've always thought.

We'll just put on some flannel,
Three layers ought to do,
And an old pair of hunting socks,
And I'll cuddle on the couch next to you.
We'll have a special treat with the Starbucks,
The kind that we can brew at home,
And we'll have a pastry when we get hungry,
A little later, we'll talk to family on the phone.

Yes, we'll not be having Christmas this year,
And you know, people don't understand,
That reading quietly by the fire with you,
Fulfills all of my unmade plans.
So, it's nothing special for us, then,
Maybe just like another day,
For us to treasure all of the blessings we've been given,
Even though our tree and presents are not prominently on display.

So, for my girls who are out there,
And always in such a rush,
Stop and smell the smells,
And remember to get in touch.
And when the time finally comes,
For you all to settle down,
Don't forget to stop by at Christmas,
And remember your flannel nightgowns.