I used to white-knuckle my way through the holiday season. The calendar sometimes felt too thick to navigate, barely enough white space to catch a breath between out-of-town guests, Christmas programs, your fourth batch of gingerbread for Aunt Margaret’s cookie exchange. For a gal prone to quiet and space, the bustle of holidays have often
Last week, the first snowfall. We wake to small styrofoam beads glistening in the yard, the patio, the trees. It’s Christmas! says Scout. It’s snow! says Bee. Soon, they’ll both be right.
Head’s up; this essay is sponsored by Zenni. In second grade, wearing pigtails and saddle shoes, I tried to fail my vision test.
To be fair, I’m not a present purist. When it comes to Christmas, there are few philosophies I stand by universally, except this: the best gifts for the ones you love are the ones they’ll love. What this means, for my own small crew, is that no matter how much I want to dole out
“He still doesn’t sleep through the night?” is what she said to me, and I laugh. He does not, this 2-year-old diplomat. He cries out, asks to be rocked, asks to be held, asks for a bottle, asks for a diaper change. While the world sleeps, he lures me into something different. I can’t accurately
Finally: puzzle season. Candied pecans on the stove, Bing Crosby on the speakers. This is the time of year in which we all share excitement over something. For some, it’s sterile snow falling in sheets. Others, a warm, glistening tree and a tower of packages. Still others, your grandmother’s eggnog recipe. Me? Jigsaw puzzles.
When welcoming any new season, I tend to get a bit squirrely with my wardrobe. There’s never a shortage of voices announcing the latest must-have ankle boot or toting this fall’s newest cut of denim. For an unapologetic lover of getting dressed, there’s always the temptation to upgrade.
Vacation came, vacation went. I’ve spent the past few days in the post-getaway rhythm of folding whites, restocking pantries, shaking sand from the car mats. This morning I unpacked my suitcase and returned an unread pile of six books to my nightstand – a welcome reminder that even beloved hobbies pale in comparison to watching