It’s a cold, drizzly, miserable night outside. Because I’d left the umbrella in a store on the way home on Friday night, we had to go from daycare to that store without one. Wet, cold, ugh. It’s that time of year before the night is warmed by Christmas lights in home windows and lawns – mostly it’s just stores so far that are lit, and to me they lack the loveliness of decorated homes. The umbrella was retrieved, but it was too late. We were wet.
Now we’re home and dry, and we’ve had a good supper. Cameron had a warm bubble bath as he does every night, and is dressed in red snowflake fleece pjs. I announced that I had a new book to read to him tonight, and he trailed after me to find where I’d tucked it, under my bed. Little hands reached out, and he carried the large but thin book back to the livingroom, with excitement. We snuggled in my lap by the light of our small Christmas tree and the yellow star lights in the window, wrapped in blankets in the comfy chair, and looked at the pictures while I read. Just as it has done for generations, it worked magic on Cameron, who listened intently. A story set in a wintry, snowy world, full of wonder: The Night Before Christmas.
I may not be quite ready for it to be Christmas, but almost. And I am enjoying introducing Cameron to the anticipation and excitement, the warm family feeling. Last year he was too little, and it was all lost on him. This, however, is the beginning of the magic. I’m trying my best to counter the “Santa brings you stuff” message he’s getting at daycare with the more lasting side of the holiday – the legends, the stories, the family, the love. The parts that will last long beyond the discovery of who really fills the stockings on Christmas Eve.