Christmas, fingers crossed
When you’re little, and Christmas is a part of your family tradition, you eagerly count down the days until Santa will come down the chimney, leaving a mess of beautifully wrapped gifts beneath the tree. You lie in bed the night before, wide awake with excitement, wishing for morning to come.
Some of you may have lay awake, nervous that your behavior wasn’t quite acceptable enough and you’d leave your room in the morning only to find piles of coal awaited you.
When you get older, Christmas comes in different ways. The night before my wedding was like Christmas Eve, only I slept well, because I knew the outcome was one I could count on.
Lately, Jay and I have been waiting for Christmas to come in the form of a house of our very own. We lie awake nights and walk through our days anxiously waiting for Santa, who looks a lot like a mortgage lender these days.
With any luck, Christmas morning will come and we will be delighted to get the gift of being “all clear,” instead of waking up to apologies and reasons why we do not qualify.
These days, we live by holding our breath, with our fingers crossed.
