Wee baby me
Back when I used to look like that, I had an overwhelming love of Christmas. I still love it, of course, but back then it was so real, so magical, so perfect. Everything about it gave me butterflies. Sometimes during the summer I would randomly think about how wonderful Christmas is and start doodling snowmen, snow flakes, Christmas trees and get excited all over again.
I remember lying on the floor by the fireplace with all the lights off except for the lights on the tree. I must have stayed there for hours wishing with everything in me that Santa might come by early and fill my stocking. I would close my eyes really tight, reason being that Santa just didn't want me to see him, so with my eyes shut tight he could wiggle down the chimney real quick and leave my goodies in my stocking.
There was definitely magic in the living room, I could feel it. The colorful glow of the lights, the homemade ornaments, the fireplace with stockings hanging from it. I knew he'd come any second, but even if he didn't, the anticipation was so exciting. I remember feeling so peaceful lying on the carpet just waiting for Santa.
My sister as a wee baby
I always took care of providing refreshments for our Christmas guests. One time I threw reindeer food (glitter and dry oatmeal, obviously) on the roof so they would be nice and full by the time they left the top of our house. I also made sure to write Santa a little letter that I left by the plate of cookies. He always wrote back. Letters are magical too.
My children will definitely make their own, beautiful ornaments every year.
They will definitely receive a letter from the big guy himself.
They will feel the Christmas magic and peacefulness.
And if they're anything like me, they'll love their stockings more than any present under the tree.