|Shifty-eyed baby Rachel. When Christmas was all about deluxe applique sweatshirts.|
I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge after he’s just awoken and realized that he is alive and life is wonderful. I’m half tempted to throw money at the neighborhood kids and tell them to buy the biggest Christmas goose and bring it to the Cratchet house. Instead of pelting the dear neighborhood children with Susan B. Anthonys, I’m going to opt for a good old-fashioned soul-searching kind of blog. You see, the reason I am so happy is because I’m not sad. I am so happy to not be sad that I could shout it from the rooftops.
|It's now a tradition for my friend Carrie (since we are alumni) and I to see The Young American's The Magic of Christmas.|
Thanksgiving hit me hard. Really hard. Like, barely-hold-it-together-and-get-through-the-day hard. I was waking up and crying. Crying myself to sleep. Completely riddled with grief. This year, however, I tried something new. I let myself breathe and I let myself grieve. After I let myself deal, I wanted a tree... and that was just the beginning.
|Playing it fast and loose with presents and dogs. My house is now a "gifts go on tables" house.|
Christmas is back, I’m kicking ass and I couldn’t be happier.