Well, it’s officially Thursday at 8:13 p.m., and I’m finally sitting down to write this week’s post that I always plan to have ready for Friday. I’m trying something new and keeping our weekly coffee conversations a little shorter, which is amusing considering I can turn a simple trip to the grocery store into a twenty-minute story. But we’ll see how that goes.
Evelyn was home from school Tuesday and Wednesday for Veterans Day, and somewhere between spending time with her and putting away Halloween, I decided this was the year I was going to get crafty for Christmas. Now, after spending too many years working in retail, I have always been determined NOT to skip over Thanksgiving. We have perfectly good holidays between summer and Christmas, damn it! Yet I currently have two enormous Christmas totes sitting in my living room where the tree will eventually go, taunting me with their familiar holiday smells and cozy coffee mugs that are practically begging to be filled with coffee and oat milk gingerbread creamer.
I’ve been sorting through decorations, passing some along to my older girls who are establishing their own homes, and apparently convincing myself that I should start making my own. Paper ring garlands, giant snowflakes made from brown paper bags, you name it. Don’t laugh. Look it up on Pinterest. That shit is cool! In my head, I’m creating this beautiful, cozy English cottage Christmas with warm lights, handmade decorations, and all the nostalgic feelings that come with it. In reality, I’m slowly becoming Clark Griswold, except instead of covering the house in Christmas lights, I’m surrounded by paper bags and craft supplies that may very well cost more than the decorations I could have just bought.
But I think I know why I’m so excited about it this year. I’m chasing the feeling of Christmas I remember growing up. My mom created that magic for us, and while I’m sure there was plenty of work happening behind the scenes, what I remember is how it all felt. The anticipation, the music, the lights, and that warmth that makes everything seem a little more special. And I want my girls to have that feeling, too.
The funny thing is, we have three teenagers who are increasingly occupied with their own lives, and with two seniors graduating in 2027, I’m realizing this might be our last Christmas all together quite like this. They’re growing up, as they’re supposed to, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss some of that excitement they had when they were little. Meanwhile, Evelyn is four and just beginning to really understand the magic of it all. So maybe I’m hoping that between her excitement and my slightly overambitious decorating plans, some of that feeling will rub off on the older girls again. Even if they just roll their eyes at my giant paper snowflakes.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not really about making everything look like a Christmas movie. A little while back, we took Evelyn to Billy Beez, with Emily tagging along, and stopped at Cracker Barrel afterward because blueberry pancakes for dinner are always a good idea. Evelyn spent part of the evening chatting away while being polite to the elderly woman sitting alone nearby, and when we went to pay, we learned she’d covered our meal simply because she’d enjoyed our family’s company. It was such a lovely, unexpected moment, and we all enjoyed being together. That’s the kind of warmth I want more of. Although I certainly wouldn’t object to someone buying my pancakes again.
So here I am, eating panettone, or “Christmas muffin” as I’ve convinced Evelyn to call it, drinking gingerbread coffee from my regular mug until the Christmas ones make their grand entrance, and wondering just how many brown paper bags I’ve committed myself to turning into decorations. My morning walks have also officially become Christmas music territory, and I’m dangerously close to galloping down the sidewalk whenever Jingle Bell Rock comes on.
I’m curious, though. What made Christmas feel magical for you growing up? Was it something your parents did, a particular tradition, or just the feeling of being together? And are you trying to recreate any of that now?
Because I’m apparently attempting to recreate mine with gingerbread creamer, paper bags, and enough Clark Griswold energy to make the neighbors nervous.
See you next Friday, hopefully with all ten fingers intact and something resembling an English cottage in my living room.
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