I always thought we were one of those Hallmark families—glowy and a little ridiculous. Hayden still tucks love notes in my coffee mug after twelve years, and our daughter, Mya, asks the kind of questions that make you fall in love with the world again.
I spend December trying to bottle magic for her. When she was five, I turned the living room into a snow globe—cotton batting drifts, twinkle lights threaded through every plant. Last year, I organized neighborhood caroling and let her lead “Rudolph.” She hugged me afterward and whispered, “This is the best Christmas ever,” like I’d handed her the moon.