Daughter of Claus: Day XI

The responsibility of magic

On the jukebox: It Feels Like Christmas by The Muppets

Christmas, for me, has always been a magical time. Growing up in a big family, the excitement seemed to grow exponentially in the run-up to Christmas Day, with each of other us bouncing of the others in terms of energy and general giddiness. Obviously, at times, this would spill over and it would all become a bit much - at these moments, if it was daytime, we would usually be lovingly but firmly bundled up in hat, scarf and gloves, and turfed outside to burn some energy off and to “get some fresh air”, an apparently universal cure that eases all tensions, if only because in a cold, cold winter, disagreements are swiftly put aside and the aim becomes to work as a team to be allowed back inside to play. It worked every time.

I would always try to spread festive cheer at Christmas at work, wherever I happened to be at that point, thinking of ways which might squeeze a bit more jollity into proceedings. In more recent years, as my own family has grown and changed shape, our traditions have too. And, in terms of celebrations growing in size, nothing changes how you approach Christmas more than having children arrive on the scene.

I wholeheartedly believe one of the primary responsibilities of being a parent is to create magic in your children’s lives. This is a constant - and one I take very seriously - but, for me, Christmas is the most magical of those times. Even with young children, the quiet glow of Christmas lights - alongside, inevitably and increasingly, much louder examples - seems to hum gently alongside whispered conversations. It was always these moments which held the most magic for me as a child. There was excitement everywhere, ringing loud and clear, but the magic itself was there in the background, in those moment of hushed awe.

My eldest daughter - not far off five - is so similar to me in temperament, I almost feel sorry for her. Not only will she probably fail to get away with many plans and schemes for several years (it was quite a shock to realise I could look at her working through some episode of particular cunningness, only to actually remember myself doing the same thing and knowing what she would say next), but she feels everything so much. Learning to live in this world can be exhausting, managing the pinnacles of joy alongside (hopefully much rarer) disappointments and sadness. We are up to the task, though, and we will continue to learn together.

At Christmas especially, therefore, I know how much Auri needs her downtime. How much she absolutely loves the bells and carols of the unbridled delight of it all, but also how much she needs to pause and have those softer, more gentle moments when we can sit down with a book by the Christmas tree lights and let that background magic seep quietly into our souls, to grow and thrive throughout the rest of our lives.

I would love to hear about your own Christmas folklore and memories. How do you capture and nurture that Christmas magic?