Something miraculous happened in Stepford on Christmas Eve. (No, I didn't stay out of the vodka.) Something I've waited forty-two years to see. Something I thought I would never see unless I broke my own self-imposed rule about never traveling on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.
We had a White Christmas. This is my backyard at 3 P.M. on Christmas Eve.
I don't know if it was watching the kids enjoy a pre-present opening melee romp in the snow...
Or if it was watching a yellow dog, who hates the rain, fall in love with the snow...
Or if it was having my brother and his family in my home... (Here is my brother letting me know that I if I haven't already decided that my current Champagne martini is my last, it should be.)
...but this was the Best.Christmas.Ever. This was the Christmas that I will always remember - the one I've been waiting upon my whole life. The one where an overwhelming sense of sadness was not right beneath the tinseled surface. The one where I laughed easily, gave of myself freely, relaxed and just let it be. I don't know if I've crossed some sort of Christmas chasm and this year signals a beginning of Christmases to come. I don't know if this Christmas was a once in a lifetime deal.
And I don't care.
Either way, I had this Christmas. And it was miraculous.