She rises from her cozy bed to begin her day, disappointed at the cold nipping at her toes. Hunting for chocolate within her advent calendar, she realizes there are only sixteen sleeps remaining before the jolly old elf and his team of flying reindeer will arrive on our rooftop. She claps her hands together in delight, her eyes filled full of wonder as she anticipates the magic that Christmas morning will bring.
Twinkling lights strung through mossy green garland break the morning darkness and the warm scent of gingerbread seems to linger in every last corner of our home. Crafty decorations held together with globs of glitter and paste dot the branches of our spindly tree as wired gold ribbon, laced in circles, shimmers slightly. Her eyes widen as she processes every last detail – the wool stockings which hang so expectantly from the mantle, the Nutcracker standing so stately upon the hearth, the cranberry wreath welcoming friends and family to our door. Together, we lose ourselves in the senses of the holidays.
We watch as puffs of white crystals fall softly from the sky before dusting the ground with their frosty kisses. I imagine them caressing my eyelashes and my nose as a verse from “My Favorite Things” plays melodiously in my mind. I travel back in time, recalling moments of prickly cheeks and snow angels. Now, I watch my daughter take pleasure in those same offerings, her chatter broken by laughter as she trudges through knee-high powder. This is the wonderland that is winter.