Today's guest post brought to you by Kelly at http://www.mrsmediocrity.com/
I’m in those years between raising my kids and being a grandmother. (I’m not complaining mind you, I can wait.)
But Christmas just isn’t the same without the pitter patter of little feet and those joyous smiles and that “I can't get to sleep because I'm waiting for Santa” excitement. Even in my extended family, we are in those in-between years. All the nieces and nephews are young adults. And so, there is no one around who actually believes in Santa. Well, except for my Mom, but she's Mrs. Claus, and that's a whole different story.
I miss the Christmas Eve reading of The Polar Express with my son next to me in his footie pajamas, clutching his very own authentic jingle bell that Santa left under our tree one year. I miss the making and revising of The List, and the letters to Santa, and the going to the mall to sit on Santa's lap. (Okay, I don't really miss that part all that much.) And I miss the cookies and milk that we had to leave on the coffee table every Christmas Eve, which of course I had to eat in order to keep up appearances.
Don't get me wrong, I still love Christmas. (I am my mother's daughter after all.) I find myself smiling all through the month of December, decorating, baking, wrapping, singing Burl Ives and Andy Williams. Making handmade gifts and finding that special item that is sure to put a smile on the recipient's face.
But I miss the magic. The mystery. The innocent, unbridled joy.
And so, for now, I live vicariously through friends that have children. I visit blogs and view adorable photos of babies and children (like Jane). I "adopt" less-than-fortunate children and fill bags with wrapped goodies and toys and imagine their smiles on Christmas morning.
And I enjoy my family just as they are now, old enough to know better, but still willing to sit down and watch A Christmas Story with me every Christmas Eve. (They owe me for the pierogies I spend all day making.)
But I still have that copy of The Polar Express, sitting on a shelf, waiting.
Because someday, Santa will be leaving another sleigh bell beneath our tree. I just know it.