I plopped on the bed this morning and sighed. And then I sighed louder so JD could ask what was wrong. It just doesn't feeeeel like Christmas Eve. I don't know what I was expecting. Snow? Chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Santa's footsteps on the roof? Nah. But something was missing.

I'll be the first to admit I suffer from the Greener Grass Syndrome (someone is having more fun and eating tastier food wearing cuter shoes with perfect hair right now), so perhaps this played into how I felt. JD suggested grabbing our books and heading to the beach with Polo. And like Baby Bear's porridge, it was just right.

I ran along the shore with Polo and soaked in the sun with JD. I breathed in salty air and my freckles turned a darker shade of brown. And–in that moment–I felt whole.

Merry Christmas Eve, indeed.