Merry Christmas

Last night at 11pm I was making cinnamon rolls.  It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, that I was already tired.  11pm was after the Christmas Eve party, after cooking and cleaning most of the day, after getting up early to feed and walk a dog that is not my own, and after taking care of a very sick little Girl.  (My Girl is on her 3rd round of antibiotics since July, it seems she has inherited her mother's immune system.) 

And as I worked that lovely dough into an appropriate consistency, I thought about why Christmas is so hard now.  I've always LOVED Christmas, but why, oh why, is it so much harder now?  And that's when it hit me. 

I love Christmas because my parents made Christmas for me when I was a kid.  Even when we didn't have much, even when they were physically and emotionally exhausted, they still made Christmas.  They still decked the halls, shopped and wrapped and caroled and encouraged us to think of others and to be grateful for what we had. 

And now it's my turn.  I teach my kids to love Christmas by making it for them.  Some years are going to be golden, and some years not so much.  I know that I can't control how it will all shake out, but I can try to make Christmas a season of joy and light, of gratitude and kindness, of peace and good will towards men.