The Real Magic of Christmas

The Real Magic of Christmas
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The Real Magic of Christmas

All of our children have their own email addresses (Mr Miller’s clever idea!) and they are used by us as parents to send them occasional snippets, photographs, stories or letters from their life.


Every year I always write to them on their birthday and each Christmas…but I also email to write about the mundane, the every day and the average... ultimately the little moments that easily slip past us and become forgotten, but they are the moments that make us who we are and are quite magical when you look back.


Life isn’t about insta worthy photos, expensive days out or having all the treats. Sometimes it’s mainly about just being- in our case yesterday was about listening to songs in the car radios and chatting about toy giraffes. These are the moments that I’ll miss the most. The moments where they wanted to be with me, where they wanted to chat, where they had no inhibitions and were just there with me. In the moment. 


I hope I won’t lose them completely when they turn into hormonal teenagers (both the boys promised me yesterday they would only live a few miles away so they could still come and huggle on the sofa with me and my dressing gown ) but I know that it’s these moments that can pass us by and it’s so important that we find time to celebrate the little things, rather than always worrying about how the big things compare. ❤️ 


Christmas is such a magical, manic time of year that it is easy to get squashed by the pressure. I get it. I see and swipe by hundreds of Insta beautiful homes, perfect table settings adorned with eucalyptus and scented candles; serene gingerbread baking sessions with just a dusting of flour on the worktop and children smiling from ear to ear; Christmas cheer for all to hear.


 I have to often remind myself that it isn’t real. And what it may look beautiful, it isn’t my reality. Can I remind you that your children don’t have access to Instagram. They don’t see these perfect set ups. They don’t worry about them. They focus on their reality. Years from now they won’t remember the toy that they opened or the perfect table that was laid. They won’t remember the colour co-ordinated wrapping or the money you spent on getting it all just right. They will remember the mundane. The film on the sofa, the walk in the snow, the late night that they were allowed or simply the cadburys heroes hidden in your pocket for a random treat. This is enough for them. This is what gets remembered. And this, my dears, is the real magic of Christmas. 

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