Twas the night before Christmas, and…mama and papa were drinking some vino waiting for kid #2 to finally fall asleep so we can kick this Santa gig into high gear! I don’t have time for attempting Christmas rhymes tonight, just the straight stuff. The straight up vodka over the candy cane cocktail, if you will.
Last year, I wrote about the magic of Santa. The post still holds true today, although as my kids get older, it is more and more about the magic of family. They get it now; those kooky kids are onto us, and I think they’re game. They get that we deck out the house, seek out gifts that will make our loved ones so happy, make food that will fill tummies with joy, and sing songs at the top of our lungs for one reason: to bring us closer together and to remind us of how lucky we are to have one another day in and day out. Outside of what your religion may or may not be –and just like the majority of the truly important aspects of my life, I still prefer to keep my views on religion private; you may think you know, but really, you have no idea — the holidays are about giving, receiving, and living in love.
My children are my sunshine, and their existence allows each and every day of my life to dance. Their laughter and energy breathes life into me. Their generosity toward others and their inherent sarcasm with impeccable comedic timing feeds me. I write about them a lot, but trust me: I don’t write about them nearly enough. The love I have for these two would overpower the internet and make it explode into a zillion paper hearts. Yeah, you think that’s sappy? Imagine that, times ten million: that’s how disgustingly insanely beautifully powerful my love is for my kids.
These beings ARE the spirit of the season for me. No matter how shitty things may get, no matter how down I may feel, those two incredibly wise young souls keep me strong, help me find my footing, and always, always put a smile on my face. Family, above all else. My husband and I have become that couple for whom the holidays exist for our kids. We talk incessantly about what would make them happy – in terms of gifts, food, activities, crafts, adventures. Nothing could make us happier than to see them happy, truly.
I’ll be honest: I don’t give a crap what’s behind those gifts with my name on them. I can honestly say that I wouldn’t notice if I didn’t get one single gift this year (although I did open one present tonight, which was Bacon Pop — and come on, now that I have it, I’m not gonna live without it!). I’m excited to see my kids wake up tomorrow morning, run down the stairs, find the crumbs on the cookie plate next to two gifts that Santa left for them. I’m excited to cook the rest of the Christmas feast for my family and friends coming over tomorrow night. I’m excited to look around the room and see their smiling faces, to watch my kids play happily with their cousins and our friends’ kids. I’m excited to sit next to my husband at the end of tomorrow night – amid the mess of dirty dishes and wrappings and strewn about toys and books – and know that this family is our home, wherever we go, and that we are so very blessed to have each other, and to have them.
Merry Christmas to all you parents out there who celebrate the holiday and to all who get the crazy degree of love that I am talking about. It’s really quite silly, how much a parent loves a child. It’s the most ridiculously amazing and magical kind of existence there is, and for the next 24 hours, I get to soak it up and live in happy mama dreamworld, baby.