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I feel empty. We've just undecked our halls, and the tree left a gaping hole in our living room. Soon, toys and books and craft projects will fill that hole (it's a tiny house, after all) but I really miss Christmas year round. I don't necessarily miss the squabbles over gingerbread house treats or the constant demands of our (awesome!) advent calendar or the Santa-Santa-Santa of the season. And my book case is happy to be relieved of the stockings (Yes, book cases are plentiful at the Bacon Haus.)
This winter isn't particularly cold or dreary (yet) but I need that extra spark of twinkle lights. I crave Christmas during pregnancy. Some women crave pickles. Some would do anything for hot cocoa, but I crave Christmas music. Maybe that's how I do my nesting. My nest feels a little empty without that tree.
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I blog rarely, because I'm busy writing books. When I do blog, I focus on writing, friendship, family, and books. Because my family's best nicknames are private, I use their birth years for shorthand:
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