This past month, a very surprising thing happened. I am not sure if it was the cookie baking, the Pandora Christmas Carol mix or the fun my daughter had when we trimmed our little tree (our first in our six years of marriage and two years of cohabitation before that), but somewhere along the way, I actually caught the holiday spirit. For reals, yo.
It was the best holiday season I remember, the first time my husband and I really did it up: presents under the tree, menorah every night (we are an interfaith family), actual wrapped gifts and enough cookies to keep the Girl Scouts in business.
A short list of my favorite activities:
1.) Having my husband home for 10 days
2.) Hearing my daughter scream “Seeta! Seeta” when we went
to see the Man in the Red Suit.
3.) Baking, baking, baking
4.) Making a gingerbread house as a family
5.) Decorating our tree
6.) Getting my new “runner girl” pink ornament
7.) Staying up late wrapping gifts with Rob, watching “The
Family Man” and recognizing that it is basically a
movie about our life.
In short, it was a rocking two weeks.
So, maybe I am not so Scooge-like after all. Or maybe my latent holiday spirit just needed some babies to reawaken. Either way, I am sad to see this time pass, sad to see my husband go back to work and sad for the long stretch of snowy bleakness ahead. I have not felt this way in years.
Farewell holiday season. I will see you again next year—and rock you even harder.