Becoming Santa Claus: A New Mom's Reflections on Holiday Traditions by Christy VanBibber
This Christmas was different. (First, I should preface, I’m a tradition maniac.) Ever since I can remember, Christmas meant Christmas Eve church service, followed by a gathering at my aunt's house for yummy snacks and appetizers, home to open one gift on Christmas Eve (always new Christmas "jams," of course, because you have to be looking fly for those Christmas-morning photo ops), milk and cookies out for Santa, and off to bed with the anticipation of Christmas morning keeping me up the entire night. I LOVE CHRISTMAS.
But this year, I was the mom. I was Santa. No more new surprise footie pajamas to crawl into bed in, no more creeping down the stairs at 5 a.m. to see the one gift that Santa had left, assembled, on the mantel, waiting to be played with, before unwrapping the gifts beneath the tree. And I feel like it’s OK to say it: I missed that. I’m a child at heart. And my goodness, I love my traditions. This year...
- I was the stocking stuffer.
- I was the toy assembler.
- I was the family pajama buyer.
- I was the cookie eater and milk drinker (and I even took a bite of the carrots because, well, the reindeer have to have a snack, too).
This year I was Santa.
This year, I'm a mom.
And that made this Christmas different, but it made it the best Christmas of all.
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