Every year I get a little overcome by the Christmas spirit. I get caught up. In addition to asking if we can open presents every single day in December, I ask my husband for a Christmas puppy. In a stocking. Wearing a bow. Waiting for me. Whimpering for me. Loving me. Needing me. All fluffy and cute and cuddly and mine. And my husband says no. Something about the joy. And the pain. And he sighs because we have the same discussion every Christmas.
I love our traditions.