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I was whining the other day about what a pain it is to have a book released at Christmas time, and my friend said, "Well, it's better to have a book released in December than to not have a book released at all." She was right, of course, so I quit whining. But I can still use the frantic juggling of book signings, interviews, and Christmas shopping as an excuse for being a Bad Blogger, can't I?
My kids are finally off school for the holidays, and we're muddling our way through our first Christmas since my mother's death. I've decided to simply give up trying to write for the next week so that I can focus on things like decorating the house and making Christmas cookies and generally just having fun with my girls. Saturday, we got the tree up; this afternoon I helped Danielle with her annual gingerbread house; yesterday we put up the new wreath and garland I made for the front door.
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In the past nine months, I have left town for Easter, Mother's Day, and Thanksgiving. But I couldn't run away from Christmas. Although we are not a religious family, Christmas has always been huge for us. To be frank, I thought this time of year would be harder than it has been. I have so many wonderful, laughter-filled memories of Christmases past, that hanging my mother's ornaments on my tree and putting her creche--bought in Madrid when I was a child--in my living room has proved to be unexpectedly healing. Who'd have thought?
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