The first “real” snow hit last week—more than four inches, which apparently makes it official. Everything went soft and quiet in preparation for Christmas; the energy was something that I wasn’t used to. It was the complete opposite of what I grew up with.
Then came Christmas.
Because Rex gave me a debit card with an allowance, which I still don’t know how to process. Nothing dramatic—just enough that I didn’t have to ask permission to want things. I used it to buy small gifts: a mug, a sketchbook, silly socks, and a bracelet. Tiny things. No one told me they were unnecessary, or wasteful or too much.
They opened the gifts like I’d handed them something precious.
Maybe I did.
Giving gifts didn’t feel like a transaction to earn approval or a desperate attempt to be worth noticing.
I’m
