It belongs to four very sweet children and two of the best people I know. And one little dog. I hope they don't mind that I borrowed a picture to illustrate a point.
When I grow up, this is how I want my home to look at Christmas.
A tree with all the ornaments placed at the height of my children's reach. Tons of presents, all beautifully bundled in pretty paper.
End of the year wishes all wrapped up and waiting for the morning of the 25th.
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In our house, the Looch chooses three different rolls of paper and uses one for each of us. That way, there are no tags on the gifts and we can't snoop to figure out what we're getting before the big day. We have to guess which paper belongs to us Christmas morning. Sometimes she makes it a treasure hunt. The clues are tailored to our inside jokes and unique traits. They are sweet and funny and silly and generally awesome.
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It's traditions like these that I want to carry along to a family of my own one day. Because after 26 years of Christmas morning excitement, I can barely remember what was inside all those presents that were piled high around the tree.
All I can remember is how magical everything always looked. And how I could count on three different kinds of wrapping paper. And homemade ornaments placed around the tree with love.
So even though it's exciting to put the decorations all around the house and watch as the bottom of the tree disappears under mounds of wrapped gifts, it's the traditions that feel most like Christmas to me.
