In reality, this morning is less than remarkable. Like all the mornings at this time since the seasons grew colder, it’s still dark as I write on this December morning.
The chickens will be awake in their roosts and I know the cows are patiently waiting for me at the gate to receive their morning feed, all three standing in a row.
From the rear of the house, I can hear those damn mice munching in our closet, and the only real warmth in the house at this time of the day comes from my cup of coffee, emitting its misty steam from my left hand.
But this is the morning Wren has been waiting 364 sleeps for. Still nestled in our bed beside her sister in their matching fleece pyjamas, when she wakes, she will find this day to be anything but routine.
Our tree is lit, the stockings stuffed and the tissue in the gift bags longs to be torn. The house kinda looks awesome.
Yet for now, the house stands still and quiet.
This Christmas is Millie’s first, and Wren’s fifth. This Christmas, my 29th, has been different in a slower, calmer and more meaningful way.
For me, this Christmas is about my four year old singing all of the words to Wham’s Last Christmas. (For your information we are still unsure as to how she mastered this.)
It’s about having personally eaten 68 peanut butter balls and having no regrets. In fact, there is a fresh batch waiting for my consumption on the top shelf of the fridge.
It’s about my dad having arrived with four bags of groceries in hand to ensure we didn’t have to make an extra trip to town for food, though we did anyway because we didn’t want to cook. So we paid four bucks for Kraft Dinner which Wren ate four bites of and gave the waitress a ten-dollar tip for an 18 dollar bill.
It’s about having made tree decorations for the empty spaces out of painted toilet paper because Wren likes it that way.
It’s about hiding gifts from our kids in our old barn and crossing our fingers and just hoping we won’t find rat holes in the corners.
This Christmas was about Papa learning how to paint finger and toenails for the very first time and killing it with his mad painting skills.
It’s about my six month old already eating chips, because there was party mix and she was at a party. And, as it turns out, the girl loves salt and she loves carbs – go figure.
It was about Wren wearing no clothing for Christmas Eve, yet being decked right out in full face paint for the entire day.
This Christmas was about being home and letting go. We passed on all offers to venture off the farm and stayed in. But anyone who wanted to, was more than welcome to visit and indulge in some salty peanut butter balls.
This morning I’ll light a fire in the woodstove, even though it’s oddly warm out, to greet my early risers to a day they love the most.
I’ll slip out and feed the chickens at daybreak and toss them an extra scoop or two.
I’ll stay in these starchy leopard print jammies all day if I want to, because I can. And I will eat those remaining balls.
This Christmas we kept it quiet. This morning this house is quiet. And as I sit here with heavy eyes but a light heart, I realize this simplicity might make this the most remarkable Christmas of them all.
The delicious looking featured image is by Mark Weinberg and is from this Food 52 recipe for Almond Butter Buckeyes. So if you’re still hungry with all this talk of chocolate salty balls and can’t make it out my way – you know what to do.