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And a son that understands it.

Minus this whole hates me because I won’t give into his tantrum demands thing…I really am quite lucky.

“My leggings aren’t in there, Mom,” Blakely insists in between choosing ribbons. “I wouldneverput performance wear with my school wear.”

On this side of the shore, I know that.

Iappreciateit.

On the other?

Iloathehaving daughters more organized than me.

What’s wrong with being a little messy?

Or a lotta messy?

Other than needing something very specific at a very specific time for a very specific event?

Ugh.

Fuck. Me.

Who am I kidding?

Them organized typically makes my life so much easier.

“Okay, The Who Determined to Give Me a Migraine for Christmas…” I remove my grip entirely from the piece of furniture. “Wheremightthey be?” My hands fall to my red, V-neck, sweater dress covered hips on a defeated huff. “Narrow down this search and rescue mission for me.”

“Um…” her tiny already painted rosy nose scrunches in thought. “Not in my dresser because that’s only for school stuff. Not in my closet because I already checked there. Not under my bed because then they could get linty.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve already checked all those places. Along with your vanity area. Your desk area. Your reading chair. And your dress-up trunk.”

“Character wardrobe.”

Not rolling my eyes is a Frosty come to life miracle.

“Have you checked their bathroom?” Wy suggests from his leaning position.

Excitement has me throwing my hands up in victory over the idea, spinning on my heels, and heading for the shared joint space. Once I’m there, I meet his gaze again. “Can you try to compromise with me?” Entering the area has the light automatically turning on. “Can Brie and Kellan bringtheir familyto the states for Christmas?”

“No.”

“Wow,” leaves me on a sarcastic nod, “could you at leastpretendto consider it?”

“They were herelast year,remember?” He folds his arms firmly across his chest. “They try to come for Christmas everyotheryear.”

“Right.” My attention moves into the wide pink and white space the girls share. “Can we go to Doctenn for New Years?”

“They’ve got some…Royal Family Ball…thing.”

“I can probably get us invited to that!” I call out while aimlessly searching the towel closet for the missing article of clothing. “Brie loves me-”

“And me!” Nae reminds. “And I’malwaysavailable to party with royalty. At Christmas or otherwise.”

Snickers shake my shoulders as I lower myself to a squat to move the investigation to the lower cabinets.

“You and Uncle J.T. would come to Doctenn with us for Christmas?!” my son excitedly inquires.

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