Did You Forget Something?

“Did you forget something?” Evelyn’s cocked head tilted at me like a dog hearing the word walk. It made me think—did I? But before I could answer, she chimed in with that irresistible, kid-perfect voice, the kind you wish you could bottle, put in a locket, and wear around your neck for whenever you need a boost: “Are you excited?” Her head tilted even further, her pitch somehow even higher, like a dog hearing walk and treat simultaneously.

On pins and needles about what she might say, I prompted, “Tell me!”

“It’s almost Christmas.”

Oh, how I wish I felt about Christmas the way she does, the way I once did. The magic of lights, get-togethers, and stories. Back then, the only price to pay for the big day was waiting—endless, excruciating waiting. And yet, as an adult, how I marvel at how slowly time seemed to move back then, especially when something so wonderful was on the horizon.

I wonder how long I’ll go along with the Santa Claus story. I want Evelyn to experience the magic, but I don’t want her to feel the disappointment of discovering it wasn’t real. Is there a happy medium? I’m doubtful.

Am I a bah-humbuggy curmudgeon? No, definitely not. With two fluffy, perfectly matched pillows now adorning the once-barren chairs in our living room, I’m definitely feeling festive. The alternate-universe interior designer in me knows without a doubt those pillows are the backup singers that should be the main act.

This is why playing with colors, prints, and arranging furniture feels like the most satisfying puzzle-slash-chess match—there’s one clear winner, but at the same time, my mind is on overdrive, twisting and turning to make everything fit. It’s a chaotic dance, like playing Twister in a house full of drunk frat boys, where balance and strategy are constantly at odds, but somehow, it all comes together in the end.

Phew. After all that, I need a breather. And by breather, I mean bedtime. And by bedtime, I mean snuggling under a blanket, watching Dave play video games, and reading him the small-print enemy names he can’t quite see himself.

But before I go, I’ll ask: Did you forget something?

Love,
Jaclynn