Chapter 13 - Christmas Eve Traditions
The morning of December 24th dawned bright and brilliant. The sun reflected off the fresh blanket of snow outside, flooding the cabin with a dazzling, diamond-like luminescence.
We started our morning with a massive, leisurely breakfast.
There were no formal dining tables, no silver serving trays to polish, and no demands to keep the kitchen spotless. We made pancakes shaped like snowmen, drenched them in warm maple syrup, and ate them while sitting on the plush rug in front of the crackling stone fireplace.
After breakfast, we bundled up in our heaviest winter gear—insulated snow pants, waterproof boots, thick wool scarves, and ski goggles—and headed outside for an epic family snow-battle.
For two hours, the mountain air echoed with our laughter.
Adam built a massive snow fortress near the edge of the property line, complete with crenellated walls and snow-block ramparts. Olivia and I allied against him, launching a relentless barrage of carefully packed snowballs from behind a cluster of pine trees.
“Surrender, fortress commander!” Olivia laughed breathlessly, tossing a snowball that landed squarely on Adam’s woolen hat, sending a cloud of white powder flying into the air.
“Never!” Adam roared playfully, staging a dramatic defeat by falling backward into a soft snowbank and waving his arms to make a giant snow angel.
I stood leaning against a pine tree, watching them play, feeling a lightness in my spirit that I hadn't known was missing for all those years. The residual ghosts of my critical parents, my dismissive brother, and my entitled sister couldn't reach us up here. We were entirely in our own world—a world built on mutual respect, unconditional love, and genuine joy.
By early afternoon, our cheeks rosy and our fingers pleasantly numb from the cold, we trudged back inside the cabin.
We stripped off our wet outer layers, piled them by the heater, and brewed a massive batch of rich, artisanal hot chocolate topped with toasted marshmallows and shaved dark chocolate.
Sitting by the window with our steaming mugs, watching the snow begin to fall gently from the slate-gray sky once more, Olivia turned to me with wide, shining eyes.
“Mom? This is the best Christmas ever.”
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“I think I agree with you, sweetie,” I smiled, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “What do you say we keep coming back here every year?”
“Yes! Forever!” she cheered, resting her head against my shoulder.
