even though i hear there’s no tree this year…

I haven’t been home for Christmas since the pre-divorce days. Which, after a quick check of the Decembers chronicled by my blog, I figure would have been 2001.

For five years, Christmas has been care packages and phone calls and days spent with friends and their families because I was not done being mad at my own. But apparently, there is a five year statute of limitations on being really, really pissed off and this Christmas, I’m going home to be spoiled and coddled and baked for. And I’m not alone. We’re all going home. (Except my brother and his new-ish wife who have in-law obligations. But as the only non-girl, he doesn’t count anyway.)

Home, these days, is a city or two away from its former address and now shaped like a two-bedroom condo – not the five bed, three bath monster we grew up in. And the image dancing around in my head of four Hunter sisters sharing the same wee bathroom and cramped sleeping spaceâ€_ well, I can’t tell you how it just fills me to the brim with holiday cheer.

I remain stupidly optimistic.

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