I’m at that tedious part of the day when it’s dark outside & it’s just me in the kitchen with bare feet on old linoleum. The boys are upstairs & Doug is running a bath & there’s an odd noisy-quiet that comes over our house when the day begins truly winding down. In a perfect world, I make a cup of tea & flip on the soft glow of my desk light but in the real world, the world full of clients changing their minds at the last minute & aching hips & leftovers still sitting on the counter…I don’t live in that type of writer’s perfection. I don’t think any of us do, truly, even when we long for it.
But there is something about Christmas.
There is something about draped garland with cream ribbon & white Christmas lights. That warm glow they seem to cast over everything & even when the baseboards are dusty & the days are short, they still look beautiful. Where the smells of home become pine needles & the promise of sugar cookies (that may not ever be made, if I am honest). But even this house with it’s straw-seeded lawn & old vinyl floors & fresh grey walls feels like home, a warm home full of love & comfort & I want to be here, curled up with my boys.