My mother was nowhere near perfect, she was raw from a lifetime of disappointing moments and did everything she could to hold my sister and I far away from the same feeling. We couldn't afford a house where we lived, we barely afforded rent, but you could never tell after the hours she poured into fixing, painting, and decorating the entire place herself. Waking up meant fresh berries, eggs, and orange juice, going to bed meant lavender under your pillow and pine candles to balance out the thick scent of rosemary that had poured out of the dinner lamb. Heavy warm sheets held you tight until dawn.

Luxury from little, warmth from winter.