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Charlotte and I don’t have any kids yet, nor are we pregnant. Because of Charlotte’s illnesses in childhood, we may never be able to conceive. We’ve discussed the possibility of adoption but never made a concrete plan. Secretly, I’ve reached out to social services and learned that surrendered sibling groups in our area need permanent homes. The thought of caring for so many kids at once is daunting, but it feels right. However, if a judge decides we’re not the right option for such kids, I’m happy with just the two of us.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself.
Spending our first holiday alone together, away from pregnant folks, feels like the perfect plan.
“I’m so glad you surprised me with a few extra days alone,” Charlotte says, her voice muffled by my coat. “I adore your family and my sisters-in-law, but I was really hoping you and I could start our own family traditions, separate from the outside world. And you made it happen.”
See? I’m a genius.
I hadn’t thought that much about making our own holiday traditions together. Honestly, my mind was mostly set on watching a few Christmas movies without Wade’s annoying commentary and seeing how many times I can make my wife scream my name.
But if Charlotte wants to give me credit, I’ll take it when I can get it.
“What kind of traditions are you thinking?”
“Believe it or not, I’ve enjoyed the hike. Let’s make it a point to always take a walk together whenever it snows,” she suggests.
Is now the right time to discuss moving forward on adoption plans?
“Absolutely. But this time next year, we might have a baby with us, or someone a little older. Are you going to be okay with that?”
Her eyes disappear when her dimpled smile widens. “I can’t wait to pick out little snowsuits,” she says.
We share more kisses as we discuss our future, with no one to criticize or eavesdrop on us except the creatures in these picture-perfect snowy woods. As darkness closes in, the woodland creatures become more active around us. A mother opossum with a bunch of babies nestled on her back watches us from a nearby branch. Wade’s old suitcase has been abandoned for the last couple of days, so that must be Shirley and her babies. I still can’t believe Charlotte and I missed all the commotion with the tree. I’m glad the mother and her babies made it through the snowstorm.
Charlotte and I could have a family by this time next year. We could provide some kids with a mom, dad, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. The thought makes my heart so damn happy and hopeful.
“What other kinds of traditions do you want to start? Specifically for Christmas Eve,” I ask my wife.
I want to get right to the heart of things. Based on Charlotte’s upbringing, I know they didn’t celebrate Christmas or birthdays. There was no Santa Claus, reindeer, trees, candles, wreaths, or exchange of gifts. So, if she wants to do Christmas, the field is wide open for the picking.
“Hmm,” she says, thinking. The twist of her lip when she’s considering a question still does wild things to me.
Charlotte’s eyes brighten suddenly. “Did you and your brothers ever leave out cookies for Santa?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yep, we always got that blue tin of cookies from the store and party mix for the reindeer. The box said ‘Moose Munch,’ but Mom said reindeer and moose eat the same thing. Oh, but there’s a problem.”
Charlotte’s face falls. “What problem?”
“We don’t have a store to get cookies and stuff. The market is fifteen winding miles downhill, and nothing’s been plowed.”
“Hmm,” she says. “We could make cookies!”
I laugh, but only because our mom was not a baker. She could throw together a mean cookout for all our kids and friends. When anybody in the neighborhood was sick or someone died, she was the first person at their door with a home-cooked meal. But cookies and desserts? That was not my mom’s territory.
“Does my wife have a secret skill I don’t know about? Because I sure don’t,” I say.
Charlotte shrugs. “We have everything left behind from making pancakes and waffles for days: eggs, butter, flour, and loads of maple syrup we could substitute for the sugar. How hard could it be?”
It seems like the wise answer would be “plenty.” A heck of a lot could go wrong.
But Charlotte looks up at me with the sweetest, most hopeful expression I’ve ever seen, and I can’t find it in me to break her heart.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
Maybe it’s not the smartest answer. But the kiss she gives me blots out all doubt.
Charlotte has this way of making me feel like I can do anything.
