I’ve been feeling a little “homesick” this year. Not for another place but for another time. When I was growing up, the holiday season was magic. Most of this magical feeling came from my mother, always singing and baking and decorating. There certainly wasn’t a lot of money, but I don’t remember that it ever mattered. The joy was in the anticipation, in the cookies, the stories, the songs, the making.
O is now halfway between five and six. It’s fun to see the holiday season through his eyes. This also makes me even more conscious of what he’s seeing, what he’s learning about this season of love and celebration. What will he remember? His mother yet again lamenting over her lack of a proper address book and all the time it takes to yet again address the holiday greeting cards? The stress over gifts and money…
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