Category: holidays

Maybe Next Year

On New Year’s Eve, my husband and I canceled our plans, since both of us are finally recovering from a cold and weren’t too keen on venturing out into a 30-degree night. Right before midnight, as the 10-second countdown started ticking down to the new year, my husband straightened up on the couch and brushed at his shirt and smoothed his hair like he was trying to make a good impression on me. I thought it was adorable. We kissed at midnight to welcome the new year together.

We slept in on New Year’s Day, snuggled up under the covers on a chilly morning. It was one of those perfect, no-real-plans, just relaxed and winging it kind of days. When we finally got up, we took a leisurely, hot shower together, then shared the kitchen to cook our traditional, good-luck New Year dishes.

We took today off together too, for a long weekend. This morning we took down the Christmas tree, and now the living room has that odd, empty look to it after all the decorations are gone, until we get used to it again. As much as I love to decorate, I must admit that I feel relieved to have a break for a while! From September all the way through the end of the year, from fall decor to the last of the Christmas lights, it’s non-stop decorating, taking things down, putting the next set up.

Maybe next New Year’s Eve, we will get dressed up, go out somewhere. But the way we celebrated this past one–quiet, peaceful, cozy, happy– was just perfect to me.

Two Days to Go!

Every morning, I update my Christmas countdown nutcracker on our mantel. Two days to go! My husband is wrapping some last-minute presents right now, and then we will get ready for our busy evening. I am excited to see everyone over the next few days, and then, believe it or not, soon it will be time to wrap up 2025 and welcome 2026…where did the year go?

One More

I’m pretty sure I have posted this quote before, but that’s okay. I absolutely love it.

My husband and I got a late start with our Christmas tree this year. What can I say? There’s a lot going on. But last weekend, we finally rearranged the living room, got the tree into position, and pulled out all the boxes of ornaments.

Decorating our tree is quite the undertaking. We have been together nearly 20 years, and over that time, we have collected many, many Christmas ornaments.

Taking the lids off those boxes is a bit like Christmas morning, because each ornament is wrapped in tissue paper or bubble wrap, and each one needs to be unwrapped before being placed on the tree. We end up laughing and holding up the ornament we just uncovered:

“Remember this one?”

“Aww, look at this one.”

“Wow, how old is this one now?”

Some of them are deeply sentimental. One of our ornaments used to belong to my husband’s mother. That one gets handled very carefully, hung on the tree where he can see it but where it’s also protected. One of them was a gift from my mom for me, and that one is also gently and tenderly placed on the tree.

Some of them are just fun: sea turtles or shells from our beach trips, animals from zoo adventures, a glittery butterfly just because it’s pretty, personalized ornaments from amusement parks.

And some of them are mementos from important days of our lives: our first Christmas married, our first year in our house, baby’s first Christmas for our grandkids.

Some of the ornaments were picked out by the kids when they were small. I still remember wandering from decorated tree to decorated tree in the shop that day, letting the kids select whichever one caught their eye. Now, some of our ornaments are gifts that the kids have given to us.

It takes considerable time to decorate our tree. After all the ornaments come the pine cones, some tiny, some large, then the little red bows on as many branches as we can fit them. We play the only two Christmas CDs that we own, and then have to replay them, because we aren’t finished yet.

But when we are done, it’s always worth it. Every year, we say it’s the most beautiful tree we’ve ever decorated. Every year, I take pictures. Every year, my husband says he will miss the tree in the living room when we take it down after Christmas.

And every year, it’s my favorite part of Christmas: unwrapping the ornaments one by one, reliving the memories, small pieces of our lives together hanging on those branches, twinkling in the lights. Our tree is not store-bought. Our tree is us, built one ornament at a time, one year at a time, and even though we are running out of room on the tree, we still add at least one ornament each year.

Every year, as we circle the tree, hunting for an open spot, I tell my husband, “Dear, I think we’re running out of room.”

And every year, he tells me, with a tiny smile as he hooks an ornament onto the tree, “There’s always room for one more.”

This Easter

I was raised Catholic, and my mom was deeply religious, so this week has me thinking of her even more than ever. I remember coloring Easter eggs at the dining room table with my brothers, that food coloring mixed with vinegar, so that to this day, the smell of vinegar reminds me of coloring eggs. She showed me how to use a white crayon to draw a design on the egg shell before dipping it, and I marveled at my artwork appearing like magic on the colored egg (usually purple, my favorite color).

I remember her hiding our Easter baskets in the house so that we had to hunt for them, laughing and searching behind the couch, in cabinets, everywhere we suspected a basket full of chocolate bunnies and jelly beans might be stashed out of sight, while she watched and offered hints as needed.

And, of course, I remember going to church, wearing my best dress for Easter Sunday, my typically rowdy hair brushed into submission and my legs peppered with mosquito bites, scrapes, and Band-Aids. I can still perfectly picture that tiny church, sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, the waxy smell of candles in the air, the smooth, dark wood of the pews. On Easter Sunday, those pews would be filled with pastel pinks and blues and yellows, colors of spring and hope and new growth.

I drifted away from attending church as I got older, and I know that disappointed my mom. But her influence never completely left me, and much more of it stayed with me than she ever suspected. Most people might be surprised to know that I begin each morning with a prayer for all of my loved ones: my husband, the kids, my brothers. I say thanks for all that we have and for us finding each other. My husband is, beyond a doubt, the greatest blessing of my life, and I do believe that something beyond fate led us to each other.

This Easter Sunday, I won’t be sitting down on the footstool in the living room for my father to brush the knots out of my hair, and I won’t be grumbling under my breath as I tug a lacy, frilly dress over my head. I won’t load up in the car with my brothers, and I won’t sit next to my mom at church, listening to her sing, resting my head against her shoulder and smelling her light perfume.

But I will still celebrate Easter, in my own way. I will still think of my mom, my dad, and that tiny church. I will reach out to my brothers, try to connect over so many miles in between us. I will reflect on Easter and its significance and its meaning in my life. And I will say my silent prayers, say thank you for my husband, and be grateful that I will spend the day with someone I love so dearly.

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