…Was the two of you.

This year, in many ways, Christmas feels like magic. Not the glittering, glowing kind, but the kind that warms your soul and quietly changes your life. It’s our first Christmas as parents, and we’re keeping it simple—small, sweet, and rooted in the pure joys our children are finding in the tiniest of traditions.

For years, we didn’t even put up a tree. The house felt too empty while we waited for this moment, for them. But now, it’s full. Full of laughter, full of messes, full of life.

And I want nothing more than to cozy up under blankets and revel in their innocence and wonder.

At first, I got caught up in the stress of finding the “perfect” gifts, feeling that familiar pressure of making the season everything it’s supposed to be. But then, I read Emily’s letter to Santa. She didn’t ask for toys or gadgets—she asked him for love. Rayden wanted to give music to people and, simply, a train. That moment shifted everything. This is their first organized Christmas at ages 6 and 4. As we countdown the lighting of our tree each evening (yes, every evening) I think this is all they want – the comfort of a safe home.

As we made peace signs with our neighbours a few Sundays ago I looked around and revelled in being surrounded by community. I stopped striving for perfection and started embracing the small treasures of baking cookies, doing crafts, and helping the kids make handwritten cards for friends and family. These little things became the heartbeat of our holiday.

Instead of an advent calendar, we’ve started the 12 Days of Christmas Kindness. Each morning, Santa leaves the kids a note encouraging them to do a good deed or learn something about community. Their excitement to spread joy is contagious—whether it’s thanking the mail carrier, making a donation to a charity, delivering holiday hampers or leaving a note with a candy cane at a local cafe for someone to find.

And then there’s the music and the lights. “Jingle Bell Rock” is the soundtrack of our season, playing on repeat as I try to figure out baking (too many burnt cookies) while Rayden and Emily giggle at my attempts. Every night, after we light the tree, they each make a wish—tiny whispers of hope woven into twinkling branches.

Their joy is so simple, so pure. They care more about having carrots in the fridge for the reindeer than what’s wrapped under the tree. Watching Rayden walk up and down the grocery store aisles wishing everyone a merry Christmas is a sight I’ll never tire of.

And the snow. Oh, how they jump with elation when it snows! When Emily gleefully says, “Mama, snow is my favourite thing,” I know for certain: they are my children.

My children. At Christmas.

I think often of something I heard on the Vinyl Cafe “Christmas Card” episode: “How this time of year is both the darkest and the brightest.” That perfectly captures this season for us. Amidst the angst and anxiety of trying to become a family, adoption has brought so much light to our lives.

I teared up the first time I wrote “Mom” on a gift tag and placed it beneath the tree. It hit me—this is what I’ve always wanted. To be their mom. Experiencing the world, and this season, through their eyes has reminded me of what Christmas is truly about: family, joy, and love.

All I’ve ever wanted for Christmas was to be a mom. And Rayden and Emily are more gift than I could ever need.

Dear boy and girl, you don’t know yet what this all means to me. I sense it means a lot to you. But I promise you this – I will carry the spirit of the season throughout the year for every day with you is magical and memorable. Mama loves you.

As I’ve written before – thank you to the stars for choosing me to be your mom. My heart is forever wrapped up tightly and tucked into your stocking.

---

P.S. I know this time of year can be incredibly difficult. It’s our first Christmas without Grandma, and I feel her absence deeply. I have loved ones who are grieving, friends who have lost little ones, and people I admire who are still trying to have little ones of their own. I see friends who are exhausted, neighbours doing their best to get through, and strangers navigating their own hardships. Every day, I hear conversations and read stories of struggles that remind me Christmas is as heavy as it is hopeful.

If that’s where you are this season, I want you to know I empathize with you. Behind the scenes, it’s a struggle for me, too, even as I savor the shining moments. I see you, and I’m holding space in my heart for you.

Mad and merry love,

Nic xo