Home for Christmas

Six months in this house and I finally know what people mean when they say a place feels like home.

Home for Christmas

Today I made tamales in my own kitchen - not my mom’s, not a rental, mine. Sophie supervised like the tiny food critic she’s becoming, asking why I spread the masa “that way” and if Santa likes spicy food. (The answer is obviously yes.)

Marcus spent half the day on the porch hanging lights because apparently our house needed to be “festive enough to be seen from space.” His words. The man who can’t hang a picture straight somehow created a light display that has the neighbors slowing down when they drive by.

Sophie’s Santa ritual is serious business. Theo thinks the tree lights are personally installed for his entertainment.

Meanwhile, Theo discovered that Christmas tree lights are apparently the most fascinating thing in the known universe. He’s been army-crawling toward them all day like they’re calling his name.

Sophie set out cookies for Santa with the solemnity of a religious ceremony. She used our good plates - the ones we got for our wedding that I’ve been too scared to let anyone touch. “Santa deserves the nice ones, Mom.” Hard to argue with that logic. This house feels like ours now. Every room has a memory, every corner has a story. Next Christmas we’ll have even more.