For the first time in my entire life, I celebrated Christmas not at my parents’ home or at the home of Jeremy’s parents, but at my home. It was a far quieter day with just the four of us, but not too quiet. Clara woke us up at 6:11—and then again at 6:30, when she was allowed to wake us up. She roused Amelia, and we went downstairs where the girls explored their gifts from Santa and emptied their stockings. We delayed present opening as long as possible, so we were finished by 8:00am, when Jeremy got the french toast casserole going in the oven. The girls explored their gifts: unpackaging the Chelsea Barbie festival, complete with ferris wheel; trying out the new butterfly clips in Amelia’s hair; eating half the candy in a couple-hour period.
I feared a long day of restlessness, but the girls were content and occupied, and though I felt some anxiety about the mess (okay, a lot of anxiety by the end of the day), everything was nice. It helped that I escaped for a quick four-mile hike midday, and that I got some texts from friends far away. It also helped that we saw the movie Wonka at four. I didn’t mind Timothee Chalamet singing about candy even though my kids had consumed several pounds of it that day.
It's hard to know how to feel about Christmas now that I’m an adult. I enjoy seeing the magic of it through my kids’ eyes, but I’m personally ambivalent. I find it easy to feel stressed and anxious and hard to appreciate the present. Still, by any account, it was a successful day. I went to bed with a full belly, a clean house, and happy kids.
Plus I got a soil moisture-level reader for my plants!
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