Christmas in July. And October. And mid-March.

I came home to my little suburban cookie cutter neighborhood one late summer evening to discover it was apparently an early Christmas. My roommate, an avid Christmas fan, was unpacking boxes and boxes of holiday lights, nutcrackers, advent calendars, garlands, and mini-trees. The second I walked in through the garage door, Frank Sinatra was wishing at the top of his lungs for a white Christmas and I was wondering what was going on.

I followed the wafting music up the stairs to our office. There was Bryan sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of strewn bits of packing paper and bubble wrap, humming along and giggling like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“Um… whatcha doin’?” I asked.

Bryan’s face lit up when he saw I’d come in the room. He jumped up and came bouncing towards me; all smiles and pure happiness. “It’s almost Christmas!!!” he squealed.

“It’s August,” I immediately retorted. He tilted down his head to glare at me from over the rim of his reading glasses.

“It’s only four months away.”

If it wasn’t for my friends and family who truly appreciate and embody holiday cheer when it’s that time of year, I’m not sure if I’d enjoy the festivities as much. I’m not one to dance around my house by myself, decorating the halls with boughs of holly or drawing faces on gingerbread cookies alone. But to be able to see the holidays for what they truly are – a celebration of those we love most – through the eyes of those we love most, is truly a blessing.