Ah, yes. Christmastime. I happen to love the holidays. I make it a personal crusade to eat every cookie within a two mile radius, I blast Christmas carols in the car (which I unabashedly sing to), and I spend way too much money on buying presents for people.
I recently moved from Cambridge to a lovely outlying suburb of Boston. For the first time since I moved out of my parents’ house, I am surrounded by people who throw down with their decorations. I love it! Granted, our neighbors across the street don’t turn off their lights at night so I have taken to using a sleep mask at night since the master bedroom is in the front of the house. As far as I am concerned though, this is a small price to pay for the awesomeness of little twinkle lights. Unfortunately A. and I don’t have an outside plug to hang any lights so all we have is a little wreath on our front door that was illuminated by our porch light. I write “was” because the light blew out last night – so now our wreath is wrapped in darkness. We haven’t figured out how to change the lightbulb yet. Sigh.
However, aside from being surrounded by twinkle lights, the biggest change I noticed is that the Christmas cards we have received seem to have an abundance of children in them. I think that is a sign of getting older. Our card collection has changed over the years from pictures of people on vacation, to people posing in wedding pictures, to an abundance of babies, some wearing Santa hats. A. and I are currently childless, so instead we have our awesome dog Gatsby, and make her pose in ridiculous costumes by the tree. Her therapy will be much cheaper down the road.