Framing

I've come to a place in this whole parenting venture--and especially with respect to holidays. I don't know when exactly it happened--when I stopped feeling guilty for not being my mother--but I've arrived in this new place, where I can count the post-Thanksgiving assembly of boxed gingerbread houses the opening thrill of Christmas: our family tradition. Hot chocolate in big mugs, candles burning, a sugar buzz approaching diabetic coma--and the dance the two kids do: L, who tosses the thing together in 20 minutes, throwing the gingerbread man and then the Christmas tree up on the roof, even; and M, who works with such care that, after two hours, she has to call it quits until tomorrow, when she'll get her second wind.

It's just what we do.