The Magic of Childhood

In my youth, holidays carried an enchanting allure.

How could it not when you wholeheartedly believe in Santa's descent down the chimney, delivering hand-crafted presents from his workshop of elves.

Or when the tooth fairy makes her nightly visit, swapping your baby teeth for a monetary token to embellish her tooth-built castle.

And, naturally, the idea that a giant bunny infiltrates your home, leaving behind Easter baskets brimming with egg-filled delights.

How could such moments not feel magical?

However, as the years unfold, I find myself aware of that once-undeniable magic gradually dissipating.

So how do we keep the magic alive? 

As I reflect back on the years, there is a constant in all of that “magic”. 

Behind the enchantment, there's a silent hero — Mom. Her tireless work and unwavering dedication often go unnoticed. Like all moms, she lets Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the heroes of the tales take the credit, gracefully sitting back while she orchestrated it all, just as she always has.

On Valentine’s Day, Mom would deck us out in red and hearts, making sure we stepped out the door for school armed with valentines for our classmates. Each card thoughtfully themed to align with our favorite shows or activities of the moment.

Even better, upon returning home from school, a delightful assortment of stuffed animals, candies, balloons, and a heartfelt card awaited us, expressing the depth of love shared from both her and my Dad.

On St. Patricks Day, we’d awake to green pee in the toilet from the naughty leprechauns and messages on the mirrors. From time to time she’d fill the house with green and gold and rainbow to get us in the spirit. 

Again, we’d wear green to school so that we wouldn’t get pinched. She always looked out for us. 

On Halloween, any costume we ever dreamed of being it seemed she pulled out of thin air (most likely with the help of my crafty Nana.) 

She’d make us whatever dinner we chose before we went off to trick-or-treat all night with our friends & family in the best neighborhoods in town. 

Naturally, she'd be the trooper, content with nibbling on candies from the discard pile as we counted every last piece before bedtime.

Come Thanksgiving morning, she'd rise before the sun, preparing our cherished breakfast spread of hash brown casserole, French toast, eggs, and bacon.

We'd gather on the couch, indulging in our meal while eagerly watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade and the dog show. 

Afterwards, she’d direct us to go put on our special Thanksgiving outfits and get ready to go to our Nana and Grandpas house for lunch and dinner. 

On Christmas Eve, she would tuck me, my brother, and my sister into bed while reading us our favorite special Christmas book. 

She would spend hours up preparing the house perfectly for the next day. 

She’d meticulously place the cookies we’d baked and frosted together on the table with our notes. I’m sure my dad would help take a bite or two out of them alongside her. 

We’d put carrots in the front yard for the reindeer and they would always leave behind some of their magic flying dust. It was incredible. 

One year, she and my dad went above and beyond, arranging for a special visitor to don the red suit and spread cheer as Santa right in our own home, truly igniting the magic of the season.

On Christmas morning, she would watch as we carelessly ripped off the wrapping paper she had so carefully wrapped months ago when we mentioned in passing our obsession of the week. Of course, my Dad would come behind us with a trash bag picking up the shreds as we go. (I am pretty sure that is a universal Dad thing). 

Pouring each of us a glass of orange juice, she'd accompany it with a plate of blueberry or chocolate chip pancakes. We’d go on and on excitedly, because “how could Santa have known exactly what we wanted?”

Every member of my incredible family contributed to making these occasions truly exceptional. No person, less of a hero than the other. My dad, too, spared no effort, assembling trampolines and basketball hoops under the cover of night so we could wake up to them on Christmas morning. To this day, he ensures that each Valentine's Day is celebrated with its own touch of magic.

My grandparents, equally dedicated, continue to go above and beyond, ensuring that even as adults, we all have presents and stockings to open and cherish creating a festive atmosphere that transcends generations.

And amidst it all, the overwhelming love that binds us together shines brightly.

All of my life, and all year long, I’d look forward to holidays. When they were over, I’d eagerly await the next one. 

They were always so bright, exciting, and magical. 

But one thing is for sure, the “magical” part of it all was my mom. 

She’d plan and prepare and put every ounce of love and care into each holiday.

I realize now, as I am older, and the years unfold, some of the holidays I waited all year for have just become days. 

But for the rest of the days, I will wear green on St. Patricks Day and red or pink on Valentine’s Day. I’ll do my best to dress up on Halloween and never let any Christmas Eve go without a bedtime story, all in search of that little bit of magic served up by my mom. I eagerly anticipate the day when I can create and serve up that same magic myself.