Type A magic

I don't remember if I ever felt the magic of Christmas. I'm sure at some point I did. But, in talking with my friends, in seeing how my husband and mother-in-law get so excited about everything, I question whether or not I ever believed in the magic. The kids all tracked Santa's sleigh tonight through our telescope. And as the sleigh bells rang, Matthew assured me that he saw Donner on the rooftop of our neighbor's house. I am amazed at his belief in magic. There are times that I can't tell my own kids a apart, and yet Matthew from 100 yards away can tell Donner from Blitzen. My kids believe in the magic.

For me, I think I try too hard to believe or maybe it is that I spend so much of my life believing in the practical that it is hard for me to dream of the magic. I have fond memories of Christmas. The smells of a dinner -- the sounds of lots of family and friends gathering at our house - but, I never really considered that magical. I considered that just part of the holiday. It is what you do. I have my list for Christmas. I've taken the roast out to defrost, the bread, pumpkin pie and cheesecake are all ready to go - my tablecloth is on the dining room table - lots of things crossed off the list, but nothing magical. I "do" the holidays. It is who I am. Inherent to my definition is the fact that I am the functional person. I get things done. I make the plan. I make the lists. I make sure that everyone else believes in the magic.

And yet tonight as I sit waiting for my two year old to fall asleep, I so badly want to believe in the magic. For just one day, I'd like to not be my Type A. I'd settle for being a B+ - if it meant that I could believe for even one minute. And for those of you who know me well, Type B+ would be a monumental shift in my existence. But, I don't see myself as anything but Type A.

I see the glow of the small Christmas trees that are in each child's room. They are waiting to embrace a present, but only if sleep comes soon to the kids. As I look at the lights on Nick's tree, the melding of colors reflect just enough on each boy's face so that I can see the outline of Nick's sleepy eyes and Lucas in deep sleep. The magic covers them like their blankets. Emme and Matthew are already dreaming. I sit and think.

I think of all the people who are missing someone this Christmas. I think about the chance to look in someone's eyes - even just briefly, or hear for just one stolen moment the laughter that frames a random conversation. I think about the smell of Christmas bread that my Yiayia use to bake and I wonder if mine will be as good as hers. I think about how I love sharing the bread as if with each bite love fills your soul. I think about how strong a hug can be in lifting your spirit. I think about how the sound of a voice - first words of "MaMa" - can make your heart stop. I think about how a walk or a crawl down the hallway can bring such joy, if only you stop and take a look. I think about how no one should have to be alone this Christmas when their family is nearby.

I think about how grateful I am that my mother-in-law is here, and am grateful that I did not have to schedule visits among different sets of family members so that the "perfect" Christmas was achieved. I think about how I love the photo I took before church on Sunday when all the kids were wearing Christmas outfits and how fun it'll be tomorrow when Nicky stays in his pjs all day and Emme dons her dress from her Nouna. I think about how excited Matthew will be as he opens the presents he has wanted. I think about Lucas and the awe of a first Christmas. I think about my sister whose son William arrived early but will be spending his first Christmas at home and not in the hospital. I think about two things that I was once told never to forget ... and I realize that I do believe in the magic. But for me, my Type A magic - is more about the ordinary day and those moments that we learn not to forget. It is those moments that define my magic - my Type A magic - a magic that can't be put on any list, but one in which for me, allows me to be free, even for a moment.