Three Christmas seasons ago, while I was pregnant with Hank, one of my fellow teachers gave me a Christmas card that I will never forget. Inside it she had written: Your holidays are about to get sooooooooo much better!
I didn’t get it at the time, but boy, I sure get it now. This Christmas has been infinitely more special, already; thanks to the excited little two-and-a-half-year-old who started his Christmas countdown at Halloween. (He made one adorable little “Ho-Ho,” minus the white beard!)
Don’t get me wrong–I have always loved Christmas, but I have never loved its tendency to overwhelm me each year. No matter how prepared I am. There’s such high expectations, and only so many days to get it all done!
Then there’s the whole “meaning.” We debate so much about what Christmas is all about; whether it’s the birth of Jesus or the giving of gifts or the spreading of holiday cheer. The battle of “Presence” vs. Presents. The scramble to do all the things for all the people you love, that you can’t seem to find time/energy/motivation to do throughout the rest of the year. Is this really the only time of year we can take the time to send out a written greeting to our friends or take a family photo? To make a batch of cookies and take some to a friend? Or bring chocolates to your best customers? It’s usually the only time I do any of those things! And then there’s the unavoidable holiday stress; the long list of to-do’s and check-offs and projects and wish-lists. It is so easy to get wrapped up in it all! (Pun intended) 🙂
However. The wise prediction in that dear teacher’s card was spot-on. The Christmas blues tried to get me down this year, but luckily, my little boy’s spirit wouldn’t let them. Not this year! Not with this precious toddler, filled from his blonde ringlets right down to his chubby little toes with anticipation and excited energy. Filled with absolute magic.
Santa hasn’t even gotten here yet, and already this has been my most meaningful Christmas, by far. Now that I have truly seen Christmas through the eyes of my child–through those innocent blue eyes that don’t see to-do lists or piles of unfinished wrapping–I have also seen the magic.
Because ALL he sees is the magic.
After tucking him in last night, I stayed a while in his cozy dark nursery, watching the light from glittery snow flickering on the walls as it spun in the special snow-globe his daddy bought him a few weeks ago. And as I sat there, I saw the Christmas magic. But the magic wasn’t the Santa in the snow globe, or the glittery snow floating around him in the current.
The magic was the curly blond head peeking out of the blanket in the crib just below it, peacefully dreaming about “Ho-Ho.”
(And likely, the “big huge excavator” that he’s hoping Ho-Ho will bring down our chimney soon.)
(And popsicles. Not a night goes by where this boy doesn’t dream about popsicles.)