"I'm not reinventing the holiday wheel here. I'm literally just following one guiding principle: If it makes me feel even 1% cozier, I'm gonna say yes to it. Yes to seasonal snacks. Yes to candles that smell like the lovechild of a Christmas tree and a candy cane. Yes to swapping my linens for something warm enough for winter, just like my mom used to do to make the holiday season extra special for my siblings and me."
"None of this fixes the big-picture problems in the world, of course. But these tiny rituals do help remind me that it's OK to enjoy being extra this time of year. Joy is still allowed. Here's everything I'm doing (and buying) this December to make the end of this year magical... in case you want to do a little joy engineering, too."
"I truly do believe this month needs whimsy: unnecessary, unadulterated, delightful whimsy. Things that aren't practical but are fun for the sake of fun. And I want to share it all with my kids, just like my mom shared with me growing up. You know, classics like building a gingerbread house and driving around to see the Christmas lights. But there's a fine line between holiday magic and holiday burnout, so we're only leaning into the traditions that fill us up... not drain us."
December feels heavy, so the narrator creates comfort and joy through small, intentional holiday rituals. The guiding rule is accepting anything that increases coziness by even one percent: seasonal snacks, nostalgic candles, and warm winter linens. The narrator prioritizes traditions that energize the family, sharing favorites like gingerbread houses and Christmas lights while avoiding obligation-driven activities. Seasonal foods and limited-time treats are embraced for their specialness. The approach acknowledges that rituals do not solve large problems, but they permit enjoyment, allow extra cheer, and cultivate deliberate, small sources of happiness during a difficult year.
Read at Scary Mommy
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