Hoping to See Queen Frostine

My house smells like Christmas: pine boughs, apple cider, cinnamon, and the smell of warm food. The aroma is mostly my doing, although the tree was a family project. When we brought it home, set it up in the stand and cut the netting, it unfolded into the most full and beautiful tree we have ever had. I decided that we should invite Scott, Amy, the babies and the Hathawastills to help us decorate. I made the phone calls then I went grocery shopping. We had a inaugural holiday bash with citrus-honey glazed chicken, risotto, red potatoes, carrots and guacamole from scratch (random, I know).

After the tree was wrapped with ribbon, lights and dripping with ornaments the guests left and I found myself lying in the dark. The only illumination in the room was the glow from the tiny twinkle lights. I breathed in the familiar evergreen smell. What a perfectly obnoxious time for unwanted thoughts to bombard one’s brain.

I remembered last Christmas, one that I thought at the time, marked the beginning of a new life, a holiday that wasn’t colored by solitude. I felt like I was nearly to the end of the board waiting to meet up with King Kandy and then I drew the freaking purple Plumpy card and had to go back to the very beginning. That green monster with a smirk always made me want to throw a tantrum.

Being an adult is hard, especially when you are stuck at the first square again, hoping to draw a pink and blue snowflake with the face of cartoon royalty.