I love Christmas. And just in case anyone is reading this who I haven't forced to listen to White Wine in the Sun, you should listen to it. No, really. I'll wait.
...
So good, right? It is my favorite Christmas song. Maybe just my favorite song.
I started with baking what I think is technically known as a "metric shit-ton" of cookies and then drove all over the Metro area delivering them to friends, who very graciously allowed me to intrude upon them pretty much unannounced. It was a good night.
Then it was out to Ortonville for some family time. A lot of family time.
Interspersed with all the craziness and cooking and tantrums and games of monster vs. super-monster vs. super-duper-monster were the little quiet moments that are my favorite things about being alive.
Like seeing so many watercolor sunrises and sunsets, it was hard to keep track of them.
A walk on a frozen slough with Ricardo and Mother.
Finding the nativity set I made when I was little. Its shoddy/adorable craftsmanship never fails to reduce me to tears of laughter.
Setting out all the presents after the littles had gone to bed on Christmas Eve.
Waking up early on Christmas day, but waiting until I heard the pounding of little feet running down the stairs to get up.
Just my mom and dad and me in the kitchen, finishing up the filling for the chicken pot pie.
Teaching the little ones the art of setting a table for company.
Cat (and dog) naps.
Another walk on the frozen slough, but alone and at night. And because of the cracking and shifting ice and the howling coyotes, it sounded like a Stephen King horror novel. Alone. At night. In the very, very dark. It was exhilarating. But the best part was climbing back up the hill towards what will always be my home.
You know. Quiet little moments like that.
