Christmas has come and gone. It was a good one this year, even though it wasn’t really supposed to be. It was my ex husband’s turn for the kids this year and I did some pre-holiday moping about that… say starting in October. Then in November I asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas and my second son asked for Christmas magic. “Like when I was a kid,” he said. Because he’s fifteen now and deeply old.
I put my pleasing mother hat on and tried to do things that would make him and his siblings feel magical. You know, like baking incessantly so my house always smelled like a pastry shop and wrapping lights around everything that couldn’t walk away. You can guess how this went. I was exhausted by November 30th. I told my son that he was going to have to come up with his own magic. And further more he was going to have to write this magic down and share it. We all were.
Every day of December someone had to write a line on our family chalk board about some real magic they had seen or created. Some of the lines were about the texture of snow and some where about “Christmas preparation with a dash of chocolate.” (I didn’t completely stop baking). The overall result was … dare I say… magical. And so much easier than making a gingerbread house with operational lights and plumbing.
And BTW, my ex was very generous and I had lots of time with my kids. My pre-moping served only to limber up my frown muscles.
So here’s to Christmas stories with a satisfying ending. Like books, we write them as we go.
