Christmas magic

I read somewhere that one perk to having children is that it can give you the first four years of your life back. You can remember through their eyes just how miraculous and freaking incredible every little detail of life is—from the giant trash truck that magically appears every Monday, to the way dry leaves swirl in the wind, to simply adding colored lights to a semi-alive tree in the living room.

Everything is wondrous to Violet right now. Every light-covered house or bush is the most beautiful one she has ever seen. Adam and I are frequently called “the best” simply for doing the things we’ve been doing every day. But because the bedtime story now involves Rudolph, it’s the best one ever.

Today Violet decided it needed to snow. Of course, it’s 60 degrees outside and the last time LA ever saw snow was 1962 (I love the internet). But that didn’t stop her. She stuck on some boots, crunched up some sheets of computer paper and had herself a good, old-fashioned snowball fight. After the snowball fight (which I totally won with my ginormous imaginary snowball) we made snow angels (or princesses) on the living room rug.

Beckett played along happily, rolling back and forth on the floor squealing with glee.

Then we sang some Christmas songs and made hot cocoa.

And the best part? Not having to peel them out of soggy, semi-frozen marshmallow-man body suits afterward.

But the kid inside of me is looking forward to having snow in Colorado at Christmas. Even a 30-year-old still finds that magical.