Denial: A Page in my Christmas Book

The boxes are down from the attic, stacked in haphazard fashion in the garage and waiting to be refilled.

I am not ready.

For seven weeks and three days, Christmas has filled this house. Santa, baby Jesus and all of their various snowmen and reindeer friends have been happily perched on shelves, hanging from the tree or just chilling out on top of the piano.

Last night we finally took the tree down, only because the garbage man will pick it up today.

Everything else remains.

I am not ready.

Not ready for these holidays when the kids are so old that Santa’s magic no longer has any power…when nobody believes they heard reindeer on the rooftop as they snuggled in their beds.

I love our Christmas traditions — cutting down our tree at the same farm each year, decorating it together. The unwrapping of each ornament and my incessant need to tell the story of each and every one. Again.

Homemade cinnamon rolls Christmas morning…gingerbread houses carefully decorated with all-things-sugary, only to be eaten later in chunks.

I love how my teens still expect certain things to remain the same about Christmas, even without the magic of Santa.

But there was a shift this season — ever so slight — and I felt it in my heart. My family is growing and changing, and while it’s amazing and awesome and wonderful?

There are days when I would gladly take a page from my Christmas Memories Book and have a do-over.

Like the year I found out I was pregnant on Christmas morning, but kept the secret all day long as we watched our 3-year-old son open presents and laugh.

Or the year Santa brought the huge dollhouse bookcase for my daughter that was taller than she was.

Maybe the year when we sat on the couch with grandparents — all showered, ready for presents and drinking our coffee — while little ones somehow slept way past their usual wakeup time.

This book — my Christmas Memories Book — has one page left.

One page.

Nineteen years of these memories fill this book and flood my heart when I open it.

And now? I need to fill in that one last page.

I am not ready.

I will buy another book — maybe even another with 20 years to fill. And I will cherish each page as they are filled with the new memories of our growing family…a family that will still hold dear to old traditions while the kids bring in something new each year. A friend, someone special, a spouse one day, maybe a grandchild or two.

I think I will be ready by then.

Santa’s Not Her Bag

There once was a little girl, who was quite tiny and cherub-like on her very first Christmas.

Only four months old, to be exact.

And her very proud parents did what many well-meaning parents do.

They took her to see Santa Claus. Her older brother knew the routine one must follow in order to get the goods from the Big Bearded Man.

You write a nice note, you sit on his lap and chat a bit, smile for the pictures, and swear up and down that you’ve been nice (not naughty). This would be the first year her brother could add I’ve been nice to my sister to his list of good deeds.

This little girl, however, was not on board.

She was deer-in-the-headlights scared to be sitting on Santa’s lap, which then led to tears. So sad to see such a little one crying in Santa’s workshop.

Her parents chalked it up to her littleness.

Problem is, several years later she had never outgrown her dislike of Santa.

 And yet, we kept on taking her to see him.

For a picture like this, wouldn’t you?

This post is linked up with Tonya of Letters for Lucas and Natalie at Mommy of a Monster & Twins for their Santa Photo link-up!

Creative Kristi Designs

Christmas Perfection

As hard as we may try to create the perfect holiday experience for our families each year, the truth is it doesn’t really exist.

Unless you change your perspective on what perfection truly is.

It’s Wednesday, so I’m hanging out over at Moonfrye talking about the memories you’ll find in the Christmas chaos.

And a certain little girl who made me laugh.

I’d love for you to visit me over there today.