Christmas Eve
By 3 PM, I’m dragging him into the annual “Clean the House for Santa” operation. His response? “Santa’s magical, Mom. Pretty sure he’s immune to clutter.” But somehow, I still get him to vacuum. By 5 PM, we’re elbow-deep in cookie dough. I attempt perfection while he creates “gingerbread mutants” that look like they moonlight in a horror movie. We spend the evening debating whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie before settling on Home Alone.

Christmas Morning
At 6 AM, I wake up to a symphony of banging cupboards and his not-so-subtle “Mom, it’s Christmas!” At 6:30, we’re knee-deep in wrapping paper as he unboxes his gifts with the excitement of a kid half his age. His dramatic “Yes!” over new headphones rivals any championship-winning yell.

Breakfast? I whip up festive pancakes, which he promptly ignores for cereal because, “It’s tradition, Mom.” By 10 AM, the house looks like a holiday tornado hit it, and we’re sprawled on the couch in post-gift bliss.

It’s messy, loud, and imperfect - but it’s us. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. ❤️