A Confession

I love this time of year--like a child, giddy with excitement on the first day it snows.
Anyone who knows me well is aware of the fact that it is almost impossible to rouse me in the morning; and when it does happen, I am completely unproductive until I have some caffeine. I woke to the sound of Olivia crying instead of moaning, as she usually does. My first thought was, "It's going to be a long day." Upon opening my eyes, I became aware that the lighting was different this morning, peaked out of the blinds, and, after realizing that it had snowed, stepped spryly out of bed and scurried up the stairs to comfort Olivia. After she settled down, I showed her the snow.
"Wet," was her response.
Apparently she hasn't developed the same Christmas joy I have. Then, she inquired on the whereabouts of Scott.
"Daddy wuhk?"
"No, Daddy is sleeping."
She leaps from my lap and goes to the stairs, reaching for my hand to guide her down the steps. She goes to our bedroom and I put her on the bed.
She pats her daddy on the head. "Daddy, up-up!"
She repeats this four times before she gets a response. After we are all up, I stick some cinnamon rolls in the oven (purchased from Ikea the night before--I'm not that domestic), brew some coffee, and turn on my Holiday mix on the iPod.
So yes, I am a living, breathing holiday cliché.
But, as my theatre professor used to say during rehearsals of Oklahoma!, "Embrace the cliché, Rachel."
This is my advice to you.
It is a much happier existence.