scribblechic

Twenty minutes before the start of the school day my daughter asked if we had time to read a book. Her hair still tangled and her lunch unmade I debated nestling up with a book or scurrying through last minute preparations. Bewitched by a smile still missing a tooth I settled beside my daughter and indulged her request. She choose a holiday story, a tale of a Christmas tree that is perpetually trimmed to fit a home, the excess piece unknowingly gifted to a new family until each bough belongs.

Hours later as I endeavored to accomplish a list of holiday errands I found myself staring inside a store front at a collection of holiday books. There wasn’t a gift on my list or task to be tackled that carried the value of the minutes shared with my daughter this morning; a moment manufactured upon demand regardless of responsibilities.

I no longer wanted to surprise my children with a new holiday book, rather I wanted to curl on the bookstore floor and sift through titles for a new friend. Rather than arrive at home with a bakery box hiding a seasonal indulgence, I wanted to watch their eyes scan the local baker’s shelves for an old favorite or new curiosity. Together.

I am thinking less of Christmas morning and more of the little sharings sprinkled throughout the month of December as we stretch shorter days to encompass stolen moments of  togetherness. Creating time and finding our place beside those who give us a sense of belonging.

Tagged: Family, Holiday, Musings