Thinkingdog Publishing

Every year, like clockwork, people ask me, “So Sabine… how was your Christmas?” And every year I think, Well, how honest do you want me to be? Do you want the Instagram-ready version… or the real one where my Papillon, Blueberry, stole a shortbread cookie straight off the cooling rack? Now, let me get this out right away before anyone gasps into their peppermint cocoa—I know not everyone celebrates Christmas. Truly. I respect that. I cherish it. I even wholeheartedly agree that the world could probably use fewer rules about when and how we’re “supposed” to feel festive. But I can’t help it: this season is one of my favourites. It’s cozy, it’s sparkly, and it gives me an excuse to wear ridiculous socks with dancing reindeer on them. Still, holidays aren’t simple.  They’re beautiful and messy and sometimes heartbreakingly quiet. I remember the Christmas right after my mom passed. Nothing felt quite right. I wasn’t ready to be joyful, or festive, or even upright before noon. I drifted...