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Last December your porch probably grew the way most do: a wreath in November, then a second strand of lights

The front door opens and three things happen at once: a guest steps in carrying a casserole, a kid drops

You bought the perfect stocking three years in a row, and none of them match. One is embroidered from a

Your bedroom is small enough that the dresser drawers only open halfway before they meet the bed — and every

You come home from the flea market with a shoebox of tin stars, brass bells, and one hammered bauble you

By the second week of December, your living room tells on you. The tree is glowing, but the sofa is

You set the table two hours before guests arrive, step back, and it looks adorable in the photo you take.

Sugared fruit looks magical in old Christmas photos — frosted grapes spilling over a mantel, pears glittering like they were

The mantel is the one spot in the house that everyone photographs in December, and it is also the one

The box for a real tree is still up in the storage unit, the vacuum is still full of last

Your tree can be perfect for eleven months of planning and still look unfinished in the last five minutes —

The tree is up by six, the lights are on by seven, and by nine you are standing on the

You are standing in the Christmas aisle in early December, holding a box of red baubles out of pure habit,

It is the second Saturday of December, the tree is up, and the living room already looks tired. Not untidy,

The tree is up, the blue ornaments are on, and under the living-room lights the whole thing reads baby shower.