St. Germain by the fire with friends under the watchful eye of Jupiter and billions of stars.
Finding the perfect shirt... and giving it away.
Trying new things, even if they're made of lichen and might kill you.
A big-ass tree, tons of presents, and huge smiles.
Being so happy that you don't care if your hair is as wild as a mongoose on speed and you're not wearing make-up and you're sporting a Jedi sweater, because your daughter is really, really excited about her new earmuffs.
Hanging with family, even when it gets a little surreal, because you're Southern, and that's part of the deal, and it's wonderful, and the food is delicious. Having a beautiful day, laughing, with four generations.
And then coming back home to read a good book, curled up in a sunbeam with a cat on your legs and a child at your feet, reading her own book. See?
Not minding that your stocking is empty because...
...your son gave you his Boba Fett.
"Betause he's your favorite guy, mama," he said.
"NO YOU ARE!!!" I screeched and tried not to flail too much.
And also because...
...you already got what you wanted most, and it doesn't fit in a stocking.
And Christmas is looking forward to the new year, and hoping you'll find as much happiness as you did this year. And pledging to kick as much ass as possible.
There's no Christmas in Sang, but who cares? IT'S CASPER.
And so, along with my daughter, I hope you:
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