Mixed and Matched and Magical

Woke up the a world frosted in snow, must be December.  It adds a little something to the bare spiny trees.  I love bare spiny trees, but you knew that.  Last night, we bought our Christmas tree, a small one again, because of the baby Godzilla who lives in our home.  A tree skirt would be ripped off in 2.5 seconds.  I daresay she might just try to scale that evergreen if it was on her level. 

We bought the cheapo stand our first year and every year since, that darling man has declared in exasperation how we must get a better tree stand next year.  We never do.  Maybe that’s what he wants for Christmas?  After busting out the drill and some twine, our stand is secured, but I wouldn’t bet my life that it won’t probably fall.  That darling, she’s a force to be reckoned with,  behind those beautiful, sparkly eyes.

It’s small, of course, and maybe a cousin of the Charlie Brown variety, but I love it, imperfect things have a way of sneaking into my heart and creating cozy memories.  Is perfect a  real achievable thing after all? Because a baby was on the floor discovering a strand of white lights for the first time and  we were pulling all the ornaments out of the shoe boxes, remembering all over again.  We listened to Perry Como and Frank Sinatra croon their carols. Hudson cried hysterically that the wooden Santa train, boat, and plane were not toys, but then he got to decide where they went and all was well. He picked them out last year, as our tradition goes of buying a handful of new ornaments every December.  Always remember to write the year on the bottom so that 80 years down the road we’ll know, but I could tell you right now the story behind each one.  The items topped with string, wooden and shiny, a tiny collection built each year, just like our family, our love, and our dreams.

And you better believe there is no pre-determined color scheme, just the one of life.

Mixed and matched and magical.

I caught myself singing in the morning.

I did. I did.  But you’d never believe it. Me, queen of the un-morning lovers. People who sing in the morning get smoldering scowls for me. People who make noise in the morning, just get a less intense version. Good thing my babies are so cute, they get smiles.   It was 9 AM and not a creature was stirring, besides that fantastic husband of mine who had been slaving away for the man for a few hours already.  That baby girl, hater of sleep, she found her way back to the hushed rise and fall of slumber.  My son, three going on teenager got all of my expert sleeping genetics and will happily sleep for another 45 minutes.  I beam with pride.

For a moment, I thought, hmm, more sleep. But in an instant, I sprang to my feet, as silently as possible to not wake the sleeping babe in the room. I slipped into my fuzzy moccasins, the ones I bought to ward off the inevitable doom of winter’s cold feet and I grabbed my husband’s robe.  Why are those always better than the three we own ourselves?

As I did a silent victory dance for having walked the dangerous  dead man’s bluff-creaking planks of the space in front of the bedroom door and heard not a sound from the light sleeper of the century.

And that’s when I heard it, escape from the salivating corners of my mouth.

Good morning. Good morning. You slept the whole night through (this part is not applicable). Good morning. Good morning to you.

I almost reprimanded myself, but not today.  Not on this special day.  Not on this glorious morning full of radiant light and jubilation.

So I sang it again, and you can’t stop me.  Then, I opened my first bag of Christmas blend coffee and the aroma carried me away to a magical land.

Welcome back, my love.  The holiday season begins now.

A few notes:

1. I write a version of this post every single year. Yes, I do. It’s my favorite coffee in all the land.
2. This is not endorsed by Starbucks, but, shouldn’t it be? I mean, really? I will accept compensation in more coffee.
3. My children woke up in the time I sat down to write this, but I don’t hear any crying, so I shall steal a few more sips.
4. I hope they remember there is no crying on Christmas blend day.

love captured. love painted.

They were sitting on the balcony, my husband and our daughter.  She was batting at the wicker arm of the chair, cooing and creeping further into his heart as every second passed.  We would be leaving soon to head home, so I left them to gather our things.  But, I found myself in the bedroom looking at the same sunset they were watching.  I’m a sucker for sunsets, a new masterpiece each night, a little gift that says, “I love you, here’s something pretty to hold you over until the stars.”

I stretched out on the bed and heard through the open windows,

“Do you see the sunset? It’s pretty, just like you are.  (Coo.) Yes, I know. You’re one of God’s greatest creations, it’s true.”

Love between a father and daughter captured as love was painted across the sky.