I’m off on another hunt that takes me under the couch cushion, inside a chartreuse kitchen cupboard, under the gray Formica table, behind the toaster, on top of my parents’ dresser, and finally into the oven. I stare at the package tied up with string, and the fun fades. I so don’t want a turkey for Christmas . . .
Maybe you’ve read this story before. But it’s been edited and reprinted today over Makes You Mom. Head over there for a little Christmas in June.
And while you’re there, explore the site, consider submitting your own story, buy the book.
In the stillness,