It’s supposed to be a big one, sol — a blizzard. I hope you scavenged some awesome Christmas leftovers and have hunkered down someplace warm and dry. I’m trying not to think about how this is perfect weather for snuggling with you, about all of those snow storms when we’d cuddle up with a blanket and a movie, and when we’d finally have to dig out, you’d bound through the snow, your ears flat against your head so you could go faster — faster — faster. Instead of one of those lovely, snow-covered lawns like you see in Christmas cards, we’d have crazy trails looping all around, and it cracked us up every time we’d look outside.
We had a lovely Christmas, little one, but we missed you so much. Andrew’s mom made you a stocking, and Emma wore her collar with bells on it, and Lola was in her elf outfit, and Marley was wearing his skull and crossbones hoody, just like every other Christmas. We needed you with your bells and energy and NEED TO PLAY and curiosity and big smile and happy, tired, end of day sighs.
I miss you, sol. Come home. I promise I won’t let your dad do this to you again: