Tag Archives: nose


For me, December means a lot of things.
It means living in a snow globe – which it certainly feels like here in lovely GC, considering it hasn’t stopped snowing for three or four days straight.
It means watching the movie Elf.
It means being with people who aren’t judging you or assuming or trying to make you feel little.
It means doing things you love with people who enjoy it too – heck, maybe they even love you for loving it.
It means drinking my mother’s eggnog. And hot cocoa made with milk – with marshmallows, naturally.
It means the Christmas lights in the living room window.
It means staying up late doing silly things like playing Apples to Apples and Super Mario Bros and Mario Kart and laughing with people so hard that you cry.
It’s spontaneous snowball fights while on walks.
It’s mittens and cold noses.
It’s movies on the TV all day and cuddling up under blankets.
It’s simple pleasures – like PB&J, photo albums, and the snow on your WordPress blog.
It’s baking more cookies than you think you have room in your house for.
It means that driving at night has become so much more enjoyable, and everyone in the car “oohs” and “ahhs” at the lights and storefronts and postcard-perfect scenery.
It means stocking up on presents for everyone!
It means more home-cooked meals.
It means loving.
It’s parades and Santa hats and candy canes.
It means stupendous holiday sales. ;]
It’s Christmas music in the background. Constantly. Everywhere.
It’s catching up in coffee shops.
It’s not defending yourself, or worrying about school.
It means stopping, staring, and marveling at the individual snowflakes that land on your black scarf.
It means peace. Whether things are calm around you or not, you’re okay.

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Then He Loves You.

(Repost: from Brandy)

If he always gives you the last bite of his sandwich or the first lick of his ice cream cone, then he loves you.

If he’s seen your high school yearbook photo and says he still loves you, then he loves you.

If he’s counted all your freckles,- even the ones behind your knees, then he loves you.

If, right before sleep, he leans in, buries his nose in your hair and inhales, and when you ask what he’s doing, he smiles a smile that reminds you of a secret and says ‘nothing’, then he loves you.

If he tells you that you make chickenpox sexy, then he loves you. He’s lying, but he loves you.

If he’s laid beside you in a too small bed, in a too dark room and listened as you told him all the ways you feel like you are failing, then he loves you.

If he remembers the name of your arch enemy from the sixth grade and hates her because he knows all about how she started the rumor that you only used boys deodorant, when you didn’t– then he loves you. And he hates her. But he loves you.

If he’s ever attempted to wash your hair because you said that scene in “Out of Africa” really gets you, then he loves you.

If he makes sure that you never have to sit beside his friend Dominic, the one who never washes his hair and smells like the bottom of a dumpster, then he loves you.

If you are Salma Hayek, then he loves you.

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