Don’t Let This Be The Last

Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Once again, this magical month flew by faster than I’d like…

…much like the years of my children.

My oldest will be ten on her next birthday. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve wondered if this is her last “magical” Christmas. (If you know what I mean). And as much as I think to myself, man, it’s SUCH hard work trying to make sure we don’t slip up, and MAN, it’ll be SO MUCH easier when we don’t have to be so careful, I don’t think I’m ready for the magic to be gone. When that happens, it’s just…well, it’s just that things are never quite the same after that. Sure, they’re still children for a while after that day comes, but something shifts. And I don’t want that for her. Not yet. And while I know the whole Santa thing isn’t the real reason for Christmas, and we focus on Jesus’ birth, we really do. It’s just that magic…well, it’s a pretty big part when you’re a kid.

It hardly seems possible that this is our tenth Christmas together already. I remember her first like it was yesterday, she was just four months old. There was an exersaucer under the tree, and that was it. We woke up, it was still dark (always was an early bird). We gave her a bottle. My husband and and I poured endless cups of coffee and smiled at our little family. Our first Christmas as a family of three. How can time fly by so. stinking. fast?

I know this season is a lot of work. A lot.

But I’ll gladly wake up in a panic every night from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve and run downstairs to move that darn elf to see her face every morning.

And I’ll gladly stand outside in the cold for 2 hours so she can talk to Santa on the fire truck and watch her leap with excitement screaming “He’s here! He’s here!”

And I’ll gladly read more Christmas books at bedtime when I’d really just like to catch up on my DVR. And I’ll hardly be able to get the words out for You Are My Miracle and Polar Express and all the others, because crying’s what I do best this time of year.

And I’ll gladly go to bed at 1 am on Christmas Eve making sure she’s good and asleep so she’ll never know where all those presents really came from.

And I’ll gladly throw a party and invite Santa to come over so she can sit on his lap and whisper all the things she really wants this year.

And I’ll take in every second with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.

Because we don’t have much time left, baby girl.

Pretty soon you’ll be too cool for all that stuff and you’ll be doing your own thing. And you’ll hear the sirens of Santa’s truck arriving and you won’t bat an eye. And that’s natural. God willing, you’ll grow up. It’s not that I don’t want that happen, I do. I really do. It’s a blessing and an honor watching you become this amazing big kid…you are a healthy, beautiful, smart, kind girl. All the things a mom could ever want. I know how lucky we are. It’s a good thing.

It’s just…if we could have one more year before that happens, I’d really love that.

Wishing you the merriest of Christmases, from my family to yours. I hope it’s as magical as ever.

Love,

Liz XO