We counted Christmas trees on top of cars today as we went out for lunch.
I felt jealousy. Maybe it was more like a longing.
A SUV topped with a fir, parked at Target for a quick browse of lights and ornaments. A stop off at a sandwich place to bring home for in between decorating digestion. Fairly wealthy parents (they call it "comfortable", either way, the ward doesn't know it yet) with a house full of kids. A few teenagers, some children and at least one fat baby.
I've already had 3 "cozy" Christmases with just the two of us. Now I want to be bustling around Walmart, marking off scribbled Christmas lists. I want a chimney smothered with homemade stockings, barely room for the dog's sock. I want to be a proud mom at the community Christmas concert (while CK snaps photos), starting an advent calendar, stuffing presents into my closets even though my hiding place is an easy find. I want to say "Mom and Dad are going to see Santa tonight, so you need to go to better early..." and watch my children bound up the stairs.
After opening all of our gifts on Christmas morning, my parents would sneak off to their room and lock the door (never was that door locked any other day of the year), we wouldn't see them again until late afternoon.
I imagine one Christmas in the future, after trash bags filled with wrapping paper swamp the kitchen, dozens of beeping toys roam the family room, a house full of kids with new music devices, CK and I will quietly retire to our bedroom where we will probably ask one another, as we doze off, "Remember those cozy Christmases? How long until we have one of those again?"