I credit my daughter with much.
She helped me get over my aversion to eating food covered in another person’s drool, for one.
She’s also made Christmas more enjoyable for me, child of divorced parents, who for years wished the day could be wiped from the calendar so she could really enjoy peace this season.
Still, even in my most ‘Bah humbug’ days, when I’d email my editor in July and beg him to make me work Christmas, I felt compelled to ensure others weren’t being short-changed of cheer. I put in the extra effort at the office potluck, making something I was sure my co-workers would enjoy rather than phone it in with a grocery store fruit tray. I’d bring coffee to the photographer who begged not to work Christmas but drew the short straw and did it anyway. And I’d sweat over every word when filing my stories about community dinners held for those who had limited options of what to eat and where to go during the holidays. —Continue reading—