The last night of Christmas break

Mara and I read the second to last book of the Magic Treehouse series. Our goal was to finish the series during the Christmas break. We got close. It’s been a work-in-progress for probably 6 months. We’re guilty in getting caught up doing other things and not reading. There would be many weeks between books.

She fell asleep next to me on the couch while I was watching football on Sunday night. These are cherished moments.

Part of my holiday blues is that the Christmas break is officially coming to an end. School starts back tomorrow. Tonight’s a school night. It’s back to “normal” and that ever-present Christmas spirit will be gone. The lights won’t be on the trees in the neighborhood. There won’t be Christmas music playing on 95.5 during the ride to school. And I could tell Mara was sad tonight. The same way I always was as a child when it was the night before school started back up. For me, it was always that Christmas was coming to an end. The experiences were coming to an end. Going back to school wasn’t that bad, it was that Christmas was over.

I’m living vicariously through Mara. And I’m sad. I’m sad for me and I’m sad for her. Another part of my holiday blues is coming to a realization that another year has passed. She’ll be 10 soon. She’ll be in 5th grade next year. She’s not going to be our little girl much longer. As my theme seems to be these days, another realization that life is fleeting. Children grow up too fast.

Ironically, the Magic Treehouse book we read tonight was “Thanksgiving on Thursday.” It’s the book where Jack and Annie are magically sent to Plymouth in 1621 to help prepare the first Thanksgiving feast for the Wampanoag and the Pilgrims. They were also sent to find a third kind of magic that would turn three worlds into one. This was done by bringing together themselves, the Wampanoag, and the Pilgrims as a community.

It usually takes us 45 minutes to read one of those books. She was tired when we were done. She was ready for bed. I told her I loved her a million times. And I told her “Merry Christmas” as I turned off her light and gave her a wink.

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