Last week I had the most ridiculous 1950s fantasy holiday moment ever. I am not even joking. Santa himself could have shown up and I would have told him that I’m all set this year. I decided to be insane and make my mom’s gingerbread houses this year, all five of them of course, with some cookies because, well, COOKIES.
Miss O and her dad were decorating the tree and listening to Christmas music. Miss O is now obsessed with Frosty the Snowman and must hear at least two versions every day. Her little voice was belting it out while she hung every ornament on the tree on the same branch. Hubs dutifully answered each time she held one up and asked “Who is that?” I let her help me cut out some cookies and she had the biggest smile. So did I. I know it was darling because I felt it. Mission accomplished! Almost.