You have your own favorite childhood Christmas (or whatever winter festival you celebrate) memory. This is mine:
We lived in this huge beautiful Georgian home, something like what you see in Williamsburg, if you’ve been there. My mother, in Martha Stewart-esque fashion, always decorated our home with great Southern style and panache.
I remember sitting in the evenings in our mahogany-paneled library, mesmerized by the huge, glittering Christmas tree with so many gifts they wouldn’t all fit under the tree.
It seemed magical.
I’m not what kind of memories my own children have of Christmases past. I do know for sure they have never experienced living in such a magnificent home, so spectacularly decorated.
On the other hand, they have spent most of their Christmas holidays with their dad’s family. That means a tropical holiday and they come back tanned.
Not bad, if you ask me.
Those of us who are moms put tremendous pressure on ourselves to create magical Christmas memories. After all, the children grow up so fast.
I think the best thing we can do for ourselves throughout the holidays is to do whatever it takes to be not totally exhausted, not frustrated, not stretched out too thinly.
It’s not easy to celebrate imperfectly, but it’s certainly worth it. The photo is of my son, please don’t tell him I posted his picture up on my blog — I’ll have to plead “imperfect mom”. 😉