When our kids were little (they're still little in my opinion), it seemed that we would have the most sweet, simple Christmas celebrations at home; just the five of us. A Christmas Eve service, a special dinner together, then we would each open our three carefully chosen gifts. In the morning, special surprises waited in stockings, not a truckload, but again, thoughtfully chosen and appropriate. Pajama clad children would scatter about the house, thoroughly enjoying their new treasures. Perfect!
This sweet Hallmark Christmas scene was then interrupted by hurriedly dressing children, scooping them up and dashing out the door. We would go over the river and through the woods, sometimes making as many as three stops on Christmas Day. No small feat with three children, whether they are babies, toddlers, preschoolers, or tweens.
One year, as we pulled in the driveway at the first stop, Ronnie and I looked at each other and sighed. The sweet, perfect, calm Christmas was behind us. Here we were, in our Christmas sweaters, knowing that by the end of the day, we would be exhausted. We would haul home more stuff than our mini-van would hold, and be battling a serious case of the "gimme's" from our sleep-deprived, sugar-stoked children. The very same children who were happy and satisfied with what they had, just a few hours before.
He said, "You know, one day we will wish that we could come here on Christmas Day and we won't be able to." I knew that he was right. A day would come when there wouldn't be so many places to go, and we would long for them.
We've arrived at that day. We don't make a stop at my grandmother's house anymore. We will still make two stops, at my in-law's house and my mother's, but it will never be the same.
My heart aches for the way it used to be. Hug everybody you love this Christmas.
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