Sometimes I like to pretend I'm a little girl, again. Going over to my grandparents on Christmas Eve and "helping cook" food for the following day. But really we'd put on our gingerbread aprons and oversee Mema. The woman who makes everything happen. The woman who still, to this day, makes me the happiest girl ever. Then our parents would pick us up, and we'd go eat somewhere together. And then afterwards we'd take mom home and she cooked Christmas cookies while Samantha, daddy, and I looked at Christmas lights in Hall Park. There was this roof that always had a chu chu train on it. We'd marvel at the lights and feel so happy when we turned on the radio and heard the "santa radar' and sang to the lttle drummer boy. Then we'd come hom, uwrap our pretty ornament we got every year from mom, and eat a cookie and set some out for santa. We'd all watch Frosty the snowman then anxiously crawl into our beds anticipating the wonderful morning ahead.
Today I went over to my grents house. Actually did cook. Our parents picked us up because of the blizzard and I went home and cleaned my room. We ate dinner, hardly as a family, and here I am again...cleaning my room. I've been in my room all night...sulking...wishing it felt more like Christmas. Wishing my family would wake up. They're all tired I guess. No cookies, no lights, no frosty...no santa.
I'm grateful, though. I promise.
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