I used to believe our family belonged in one of those glossy holiday commercials—the kind where everything glows a little warmer than real life. Maybe that’s still true. Hayden still leaves handwritten notes tucked into my coffee mug even after twelve years of marriage, and our daughter Mya has a way of asking questions that stop you mid-thought and remind you why the world isn’t beyond saving. Every December, I throw myself into making Christmas feel magical for her, not because she demands it, but because she notices everything. When she was five, I turned our living room into a…I used to believe our family belonged in one of those glossy holiday commercials—the kind where everything glows a little warmer than real life. Maybe that’s still true. Hayden still leaves handwritten notes tucked into my coffee mug even after twelve years of marriage, and our daughter Mya has a way of asking questions that stop you mid-thought and remind you why the world isn’t beyond saving. Every December, I throw myself into making Christmas feel magical for her, not because she demands it, but because she notices everything.
When she was five, I turned our living room into a snow globe. I draped twinkle lights through every plant, pulled cotton batting into soft white drifts, and let the windows glow as if winter had decided to move indoors. She spun in the middle of the room, arms out, eyes wide, convinced she had stepped into another place entirely. Last year, I organized a neighborhood caroling group and let her lead “Rudolph,” her small voice clear and confident in the cold night air. When it was over, she hugged me hard and whispered, “This is the best Christmas ever,” like I had handed her something precious and fragile.
This year, I had planned something extra special. I wrapped tickets to The Nutcracker in gold paper and slid them under the tree, already imagining her face when she realized what they were. In the days leading up to Christmas, she was in constant motion, helping with decorations, narrating her thoughts aloud as if the house itself needed to hear them. While we hung ornaments, she asked, “How do Santa’s reindeer fly all night without getting tired? Even magical reindeer must need naps.”
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