The thing is, you don't remember the dirty walls and the chipped paint when you're a kid. You remember the thing that brought you lightness so long ago. Sometimes you don't even know you're missing it until you pass it half-eyed on the way to your day.
After I put them to bed, I tack up the Advent calendar I was so proud of last year. I forgot to do it during the day in preparation for December. I feel like a flub as I hang the empty bags I have no intention of filling tonight, much past day one. I hope they don't notice the other bags are empty. I know they will and it will be fine if they do.
This is why I reckon with December walking in. I profoundly feel my inability to field the holidays in a more pleasant and planned way. I also berate myself to get all the things done I don't need to do (D reminds me). As a mom, I've grown accustomed to focusing on the imperfections, like the blue tape marking a spot where it's not supposed to be anymore because last year, at this time, we were sure this year, at this time, our house would be remodeled.
Even with my best intentions, this blog count down has been on my mind for months. I still couldn't pre-schedule posts. Perhaps there is something to not planning and to putting forth a rough version of what's floating in my mind as it hits. I keep telling myself the holidays are a strange business I can't take too seriously. The other day, I handled the tree setup sub-par. In my ensuing beratement, Millie reminded me it was just a bad mood. Suddenly I realized the magic right in front of me: these tiny moments where magic mingles and light is both a noun and a verb. This is what I'm searching for as I crave the days to grow longer.
Bag 22 still had it's "treat" in it from last year. I think they just forgot to open it that day or perhaps they thought it was empty. I couldn't resist peeking. There's the slight possibility they thought it was lame. I wonder if they will remember it again as a repeat this year?