Rediscovering the Christmas spirit: a mother's journey through holiday magic
In her column, Tracy shares experiences and lessons learnt as she navigates life and grows with her two boys. To share your views email Tracy on [email protected]
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There’s something about this time of year that still makes my heart skip, the same way it did when I was seven and believing that Christmas held all the world’s magic in its hands.
Now I’m a mom to my own wide-eyed seven-year-old, and the excitement in him is almost identical to the excitement in me. It feels like watching a tiny version of myself bouncing around the house, counting sleeps, asking questions, and getting swept up in the sparkle of it all.
I’ve always loved Christmas. I don’t think there’s ever been a festive season where I didn’t feel that electric, warm, everything-is-possible vibe.
But only now, as an adult and a mom, do I realise why. So many of those memories I treasure were quietly crafted by my parents especially my mom.
Our house always smelled like Christmas long before the day arrived. Clean windows catching the afternoon sun. Freshly polished tables and couches, shining with Mr. Min. Decorations coming out the cupboards untangling the tinsel, checking the lights, arguing about which baubles were the “nice” ones and which were too old or too dull to make the cut.
There was an atmosphere, a shift in the air. And without fail, the music... oh, the music. My mom would blast her Christmas playlist from early December. It was impossible not to get pulled into the spirit.
And now here I am, doing the exact same thing.
I catch myself spraying furniture polish, singing along to the same old songs, my boys running around the lounge like wild backup dancers. They belt out the wrong lyrics, giggle halfway through the songs, and collapse dramatically on the couch when the tempo slows.
Even their dad, who genuinely didn’t care much for Christmas when we first met has been pulled into the madness. I swear the conversion happened the year our eldest was just a month old.
There I was: new mom, exhausted but determined, putting up our very first Christmas tree as a family. The house smelled like furniture cleaner, and tiny baby boy lay in his little nest watching the twinkle of lights with eyes wide and fascinated.
My editor made sure to bring the Christmas cheer to her home too.
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I’ll never forget how his dad lifted him carefully, like he was made of glass, and together one tiny baby hand wrapped around his finger they placed the star on the top of the tree. That moment changed something. For him, for us. And somehow, without us planning it, that became our tradition.
Fast forward to now, a month before Christmas, and my seven-year-old is ready for the festivities like it’s exam season and he’s memorising the syllabus.
“Mommy, how many more sleeps?” “Mommy, is it almost time?” “Mommy, when are we putting up the tree?” “Mommy, can we play the Christmas songs again?”
And the questions don’t stop…so, so, so, so many of them.
He wakes up with Christmas on the brain and goes to bed somehow even more excited. And honestly? I can’t get enough of it. His joy reminds me of mine. His anticipation reminds me of those magical years when everything glittered a little brighter and December felt like a month made specifically for happiness.
Being a mom during Christmas feels like having a secret door into your own childhood. Suddenly I understand why my mom went all out the music, the scents, the lights, the cleaning, the fussing, the traditions. She wasn’t just preparing for a holiday. She was preparing a feeling. A memory. A world.
And now I’m doing the same for my boys.
Maybe years from now, they’ll remember the smell of the house, the sound of the music, the shine of the clean windows, the goofy dancing, the star on the tree. Maybe they’ll look at their own children one day and think, “Oh… this is why my mom did it.”
And that, to me, is the real magic of Christmas.