I made eighty-four chocolate orangettes and we crammed our cookies onto plates painted with red ribbons and green holly. It was snowless and chilly, but there was a whisper of excitement in the air and a promise of the day. My brothers ran down the stairs, yelling, "Merry Christmas!" and "get up, get up!" simultaneously, and suddenly, they were in our room and had flicked the lights on, were shaking us and hugging us and urging us up stairs.
"Merry Christmas," we cried as we opened our grandparent's door, hauling presents in and discarding coats and hats like trees shed leaves. The house smelled like ham and carols played quietly in the background, as we laughed and talked and well-wished. We sat down for lunch and drank sparkling water as if it was our job in the dining room where my dad had grown up in.
The living room was crowded with family and we clustered on the couches, floor, and chairs, claiming our spots and waiting. Presents were passed out and people opened, youngest to oldest. I watched their faces as they opened gifts and laughed, smiled until my face ached and my heart burned, and I cried a few times. Secretly, letting my eyes water and turning my face away, for no reason at all except that I was so happy. My favorite gift was seeing my grandpa's face after we gave him a framed photo of all of us grandkids.
I sat on the couch and read through Matched, munching on chocolate espresso trail mix and slowly sipping piping hot peppermint tea. We all drifted throughout the house, reading, playing games, or resting. Dinnertime rolled around and leftover ham from lunch made sandwiches with a bit of mustard and a bread roll. Afterwards, we pulled out a well-worn copy of Apples to Apples and laughed as we tried to name the closest thing to Outrageous and so on.
We celebrated amidst holiday sweets and music and laughter and pretended there was snow, as late-afternoon light painted rooms golden and the trees whispered hellos through the glass. I am so blessed and so grateful. Today, we have half-crumbled cookies, a living room strewn with presents and paper, and hearts full of memories, sweet like syrup on waffles for breakfast.
Merry Christmas.
