Standing under the pale blue neon light of the toy store with my three-year-old’s hand wrapped in mine, and my 5 yo in tow, I breathe in the chaos flamed scent of it all. Around us are kids begging their parents to get the particular toy and no other. We are following my five-year-old through the Barbie/Princess section. It brings back so many memories of when I was a kid.
I recall dragging my parents through the toy store before Christmas. I would exclaim at what I really wanted. Promises of being good were spoken but never followed up. I remember the thrill of waking up Christmas morning eager to rip open the gifts to see if Santa listened.
As I got older, the gifts became insignificant. I was happy if I got gift cards or cash to get what I really wanted. After my mom died, Christmas became just another reminder that she was gone. When I became a mom, I worked hard to give our daughters the magic of Christmas. I peeled my ears to find out what they wanted. When they woke Christmas morning, I became a kid again when I saw the holiday through their eyes.
After the hard time of year, I wish this Christmas to be like the ones of my childhood. I can’t provide the busy house, however I can, with the help of my husband, make their day amazing. While I still not-so-secretly wish for a surprise under tree, I also yearn to make Christmas magic again. The legacy of the past can be our girls’ future.
I declare that it is snack time to my girls. We manage to get out of the toy store without buying one thing. We head to the food court to buy a snack. I plunk them down with their smoothies and banana bread. I watch them munch away and smile. What I want for Christmas is already in front of me. No money can buy the joy they bring me.