On Christmas Eve a 15 year tradition came to an end. It was the first Christmas Eve without an official believer in our house.

But, we still did all the typical Christmas things.

We still hid away all the presents.

We still talked about Santa coming to bring gifts.

We still made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, referred to as “Santa’s cookies” even if we make them in July.

We still waited until Christmas Eve to take the gifts from their hiding spaces and place them beneath the tree.

Much of this year was the same - but it was also very different. My youngest asked if he could watch us to see how we do it all.

He sat, wide eyed on the couch, as my husband and I worked like the amazing team we are - having done this for 15 years now.

Soon the questions started:
“How much did this all cost?”
“How long did it take you to wrap everything?”
“You really wrap everything in the stockings???”
“Is it hard to do all this?”
“How are you able to do this so fast?”

Then he helped me as I put out cookies and milk for Santa and, for the first time ever, our youngest got to enjoy the treats.

My heart ached through it all though. I miss those tiny versions of my boys as they would run outside to sprinkle reindeer food in the lawn, their voices squealing with delight.
I miss those days and there is a profound sadness in realizing that chapter of our family’s journey has ended.

But, this new chapter is truly special too.

This new Christmas is different. But, this new Christmas is still filled with joy, wonder, and love.

It’s still magical.

​ It’s still Christmas.

In a family of six COUSINS, my youngest was suddenly the only one other than the six-year- old who didn’t know the truth.

It was time for us to tell him.

We posed the question about whether or not he believed and he shot us both his infamous side-eye and flashed his double-dimpled grin. Clearly he already knew.

But, behind his mischievous smile was a hint of fear and sadness.
Originally published on Filter Free Parents. Click HERE for full article.

The first parent-teacher conferences of the year happened this week and man did I get schooled.
​
As a mother of a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old, I’ve been to more parent-teacher conferences than I can easily count.
But, as each one approaches, the part of myself that I consider a recovering perfectionist starts to creep to the surface.

​Originally published on Filter Free Parents. Click HERE for full article.