My son has arrived home for the holidays, and we’re filled with glee in my house. When I say “we,” I don’t mean to speak for my son—but the rest of the family, the core who live here year-round: self, husband, two dogs. Our world doesn’t orbit around the son who lives half a large continent away, but when he’s with us…it kind of does.

So he arrived home, was wiggle-maul-greeted by the dogs, was put to work setting the star atop the Christmas tree, and then settled into his usual spot on our couch and did his own thing while we did ours. In my case, that was go to bed; it was late. Now it’s morning, the coffee is brewing, and both he and his dad remain asleep while I greet the day. That’s a normal pattern in our household, and comfortable.

My village awaits

I’ve taken two full weeks off work to enjoy his visit and get ready for the holidays, and I’m looking forward to a break. Our trip out West to drive him to graduate school this summer didn’t feel much like a vacation, the inevitable endpoint being to return home without him. This, this, is the vacation. The baking of cookies starts soon, and the wrapping of gifts, but most of all I’m eager for time with my family and as many nights as possible with a cadre of young men—my son’s friends—in the house.

It takes a village to raise a child, they say, and this I believe. Parents don’t do it alone unless we choose to live the life of hermits, castaways, far removed and disconnected from others. Our kids spend more time in school than with their families, plus lots of time with their friends and friends’ families. Bottom line: They have lots of influencers. I was always happy to have my son learn rules from other families as well as mine, and to have other families reinforce the ones we set for him. And yes I was that mom, who held other kids to my standards as well. It takes a village.

But that village doesn’t have a one-way street. As much as we influence others’ children, we get that back from them, and more—at least I did. There is nothing in the world I love more than having my son’s friends at my house, laughing and talking and gaming. The faces of those boys-young-men, their voices, their joy in each other, feeds me, sustains me, fills me up. I don’t only miss my son when he’s away; I miss them all.

And now, for 2 weeks or so, I will have them all back, and I will revel in it, soak it up like red wine on white satin. Bring on the guys; let the holidays begin.