I have a secret to tell you. Although really, I think that everyone who knows me knows this secret - I don't do that great of a job of hiding it. But that's okay.

I am a homebody.

I am one of those people who would be more than content to curl up on the couch (tea, book, and husband nearby of course) and stay there for hours - if not days. I love being at home.

Which is kind of ironic, because one of my jobs requires be to be gone for days at a time - usually three or four. And sometimes I can't tell if it's simply the predisposition I've just shared with you, or if I'm discovering some great truth, but I've learned that leaving home is hard.

And, believe it or not, leaving home around the holidays is harder still. You see, this is our first Christmas together. Our first Christmas as married Mr. and Mrs., certainly, but also the very first Christmas Eve and Christmas Day that Shayne and I will get to spend together. Because- remember that job I mentioned? - this is the first Christmas since Shayne and I have known each other that I'm not gone, working.

And we have lights. And ornaments. And snow and chocolate truffles and a Christmas Eve party and presents wrapped in shiny foil paper and piling up underneath our tree. Our tree. We have Christmas movies to watch and cards to send and goodies to bake (and eat!). Leaving, these days, for this homebody, is borderline awful.

It's funny: I've never really liked the song "I'll Be Home for Christmas". It seemed too slow and sentimental and sad for a holiday I prefer to associate with Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas". But this year, as I pack up my bag for one last pre-Christmas trip, I'll be listening to it on repeat all the way to the airport, completely content in the knowledge that I will be home for Christmas.