I woke up this morning and checked Facebook like I do every morning. I had a news feed full of Christmas trees, talk about grocery shopping for the big dinner, Latke recipes, and parents sitting in layers with toddlers in front of their Christmas trees drinking hot chocolate waiting for the big guy. Families travel from near and far to be with other family members. I turned around and looked at my husband, who had already been up for hours working, and wished it was 2005. I was missing the idea that both my husband and I had a few days off, no work, no emails, no spreadsheets. My two little chicks out of school, no homework, no projects. The only to-do list in existence was a list of everyone’s favorite cookies, a crumbling gingerbread house on the counter waiting to be assembled, and a big pot of gravy on the stove. The smell of Christmas wafting through the house dancing to Tennessee Christmas by Amy Grant.

Instead, I’m in New York City, in a warehouse in the West Village, with The Rolling Stones Satisfaction on stun playing on an endless loop fit only for torture. I’m in New York City, possibly the most Christmassy city. I have not ventured to see the tree, I have not been to Radio City Music Hall to see the Nutcracker, I have not caught a bouche de noel. The only Christmas lights I’ve seen are in the break room where I meet with my staff for 15 minutes every morning. I have to work Christmas Eve and Christmas. There won’t be a big pot of sauce on the stove because I’m living in a hotel. There will be no cookies baking in the oven, and there will be no gingerbread house. I won’t be leaving cookies for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph, but to be honest, Santa and Rudolph have long since taken my house off their list of stops.

I miss the nostalgic Norman Rockwell Christmas I remember from when I was little. I miss Christmas mornings when my chickens were little and the look on their faces when they saw that Santa had eaten their cookies, drunk their milk, and the note Rudolph left for next year’s cookies instead of that disgusting carrot.

My Christmases have certainly changed over the years, as they do when the chickens grow up and move out of your nest and start building their own. So when I turned around this morning and saw my husband working, I looked out the 20th floor window of our hotel and it hit me. I may not have the smell of Christmas cookies or the Christmas sounds of Amy Grant, but I have a good job. I have a job that allows me to work every day with my husband and on Christmas morning I can wake up next to him, not alone. I’m working in a town 2 hours from where I used to live in Pennsylvania and I’m lucky that some friends have made the trip into town to give me a hug. I have made new friends and thanks to technology I can keep up with old friends. I can log into Facebook and get nostalgic through them, and it warms my heart. I can talk face to face with my chickens and I know that they are spending Christmas surrounded by love, Christmas music, cookies and gravy.

When I got to work this morning, I realized that I still have Christmas; It’s just a different version of Christmas. I am surrounded by love, warmth and occasional Christmas lights. I also don’t have to deal with that chore I hated the most, pulling down the Christmas tree, turning off the lights, and doing all those dishes.

So from me to yours, I hope your days are filled with lots of love and an abundance of cookies. The opportunity to reflect as you wish and a sense of peace. I hope all your chickens come home to rest or that you can at least talk to them for a minute.

See you in 2017.

*Yes, that’s my gingerbread house*