the bumble sinks.

i don't care about the presents.
they just made the tree look nice.
the tree my mom spent days perfecting.
the tree that my step-dad covered in white lights.
the tree that had a different color scheme each year; red and white, green and red, green and white, silver and red.
the tree that lit the room as i sat in front of our tv and watched claymation movies from my mom's childhood.

now i sit, on my floor.
cross-legged and apron clad.
watching herby and yukon corneillus trap the bumble.
the house even smells like the cookies i spent an hour baking.
i had to warn my roommate that this is my favorite time of year.

there is something about the lights.
there is something about the colors.
there is something about the crowds covered in snow.

i'm not spending christmas with my mom.
i'm going to north carolina to see my dad for the first time in five years.
and to meet a sister for the first time.
the only way i can make this easy for me is to act like i'm home.
to bake cookies with rudolf playing in the background.
to decorate a tree that stands in front of where i work.
to stay in and make presents for people that would rather get a gift card to target.

but, i can't help but wonder how my mom will feel.
christmas was the day she lived for.
it was the one day she didn't let the stress get to her.
even when her daughters would fight over who got to jump the mouse*.
this year, none of her girls will be with her on christmas day.
they will be with their fathers, across town and across state lines.

when my mom was 8, she was forgotten.
all of her siblings ripped through wrapping paper while her hands were empty.
she realized what had happened before her parents did.

to this day, we always have too much.

i live today for her.



*since my existence, we have had a calender that would count down the days 'til christmas. it was bought from avon. each day has a pocket to hold the tiny stuffed mouse that would hope towards the big day. i haven't jumped the mouse in three years.