Even when it's winter, everything is new.

I couldn't wake up this morning. There was too much waiting for me. There's a yellow light on in the car and it's raining. It is only the middle of the month and Christmas is coming.

I remember when Kurt would bring us baskets of fruit from work, and fancy chocolate. I remember the year I was pregnant with Scouty, we got a thousand dollar Christmas bonus. Some part of me just believed that's the way things were. This is a time where it's dark outside as we're eating dinner. This must be a time for magic.

Now, the company is waning. My husband is sharing an office. Everyone keeps the lights turned off in the hallways. We've learned not to expect that sort of magic.

I nestled down into my bathrobe and the tattered blanket Kurt bought for me our first winter together. I didn't open the shades. My girl had me out of bed and I was tired. Her bright eyes and redheaded enthusiasm were a prickling little ember in my heart. I wanted to sleep, but she was making me too happy.

"I'm writing a book," she said and held up her shapes and random letters. "It's a story about people who take pictures of things."

"Things like what?" I asked.

"Triangles, mostly," she said. "And circles and squares. Want to help me write it?"

Did I? All outward signs pointed to retreating. All outward signs pointed inward. I should yawn really big and put a pillow over my head, but she has glowing skin and her pajama pants are too short for her growing legs. She is the only thing, right now. The rest of the world is dark and quiet. All I want is her.

I want her wakefulness to infuse me.

I talk to my husband on the phone. He wants to take the girls to the mall after work to see the decorations and ride the train. "What about Santa?" I ask. "Is he there yet?"

From across the room, I see that my big girl has frozen, her eyes are wide and she's listening intently to our conversation. She told me earlier that I would be on Santa's nice list if I wasn't so old. I let her magic invade me. I remember it, when it was my own. I believed in Santa until an embarrassingly advanced age.

This morning is golden. There are thirty nine days until Christmas. I will let go of my sleepiness before it eats me up and drags me down. We'll see the sun again. For now, I'll get by with cinnamon and strings of red lights, with lopsided candy canes hanging sadly from the light poles. For now, I'll weave a silver thread through a silent night, holy night.

All I want is her. How much those lights and songs will mean to her. I'm sore and tired, and then I'm young again because she's happy. Both of my girls are happy and small and everything is new. Even when it's winter, everything is new.


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Today's post is a link up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write. If you want to join in, write something about the details of your day and link up! Be sure to read a few other pieces and get to know some great new writers in the process.



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