I have been told that Christmas is for kids and that the magic of Christmas disappears when you stop believing.
I have been told that, as your kids age, they leave home and you spend holidays alone.
I don't remember who told me those things, but they were wrong.
I am sitting here, the night before Christmas, and my kids are here.
My wife is prepping tomorrow's meal. I wrapped the last of the gifts. A dog is in my lap. The Christmas tree is, well, cliche or not, glowing.
And, while it is quiet now, our house has been filled with voices and music and laughter since the start of Christmas break.
"A" invited her friends to help put together our annual holiday jigsaw puzzle. They listened to music, baked cookies, ate pizza and attacked that puzzle like it was an algebra test, or the pizza.
"E," as soon as he drove in from college, walked in our front door with three boys in tow. Others soon joined them for video games, music, brownies, a fire in the fire pit, good-natured picking and laughter. So much laughter.
I love it.
Our decision to buy a sleeper sofa at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore was the best idea we've had in a long, long time.
These "kids" feel welcome at our house. That is a good thing.
Earlier this week, when both my kids were at home at the same time with my wife and me, I mentioned our family tradition of putting together and decorating a gingerbread village. It was E, my college freshman, who grabbed the box pulled out the pieces and started the process.
We spent a couple of hours as a family decorating our individual gingerbread houses before a confectioner's sugar snow flurry left the with a mantle of white.
Tonight, we went to church together and worshipped the manger-born King as a family, reminded of the reason our tree is filled with light.
We went out to dinner (Italian! with an attentive and appropriately named waitress, Victoria), and came home to another tradition: opening one gift on Christmas Eve.
Later, there will be a brief interlude of quiet. Sitting in the warm light of our Christmas tree and fireplace mantle, I will remember the good, good Father, who gave His only son, and marvel that he permitted me to have both a son and a daughter who fill our lives with laughter and creativity and beauty and joy.
Merry Christmas (eve).
I love it.
Our decision to buy a sleeper sofa at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore was the best idea we've had in a long, long time.
These "kids" feel welcome at our house. That is a good thing.
Earlier this week, when both my kids were at home at the same time with my wife and me, I mentioned our family tradition of putting together and decorating a gingerbread village. It was E, my college freshman, who grabbed the box pulled out the pieces and started the process.
We spent a couple of hours as a family decorating our individual gingerbread houses before a confectioner's sugar snow flurry left the with a mantle of white.
Tonight, we went to church together and worshipped the manger-born King as a family, reminded of the reason our tree is filled with light.
We went out to dinner (Italian! with an attentive and appropriately named waitress, Victoria), and came home to another tradition: opening one gift on Christmas Eve.
Later, there will be a brief interlude of quiet. Sitting in the warm light of our Christmas tree and fireplace mantle, I will remember the good, good Father, who gave His only son, and marvel that he permitted me to have both a son and a daughter who fill our lives with laughter and creativity and beauty and joy.
Merry Christmas (eve).
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