I spent last week in New York and it was magical. Magical, I say.
I had never been to upstate New York before and it was just about the most picture-perfect place to spend Christmas. Actually, is Saratoga Springs considered 'upstate'? You would think I would know by now, yet I type that and wonder how many people I just offended. This happens. This happens to me a lot. One time I told a guy from southern New Hampshire they lived in a 'Boston suburb' and you would have thought I insulted his mother (wicked hard, too). People get touchy about these things. I can't help it.
Anyway – it was New York state – it was new to me – it was pretty – it was Christmas.
It’s been over ten years since I have spent Christmas with family and an even longer time since I spent Christmas with children.
My niece, Abigail, is now three. This means she is now big enough to understand concepts like Santa and presents and stockings and reindeer and cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning, which makes everything seem exciting. Not traditional or expected – just exciting. I love that. I had always heard people talk about seeing the wonders of Christmas through a child’s eyes but didn’t really get it until last week. It’s been a long time since I appreciated Christmas like that. A long, long time. This year, I’m so glad I got the chance to experience it for myself.
When I wasn’t taking pictures or drinking Santa’s LittleHelpers, I was busy trying to get Aunt Annie to wear leopard and rhinestones (success!), eating my weight in butter based sausage balls, or watching Beauty and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas (four times and counting!)
It was utter bliss.
Now I’m home again, slightly worse for wear, nursing some exotic head-cold I picked up on the plane, and wondering how long it will be until I see another Christmas as magical as this one.