The Christmas I learned to relax

As kids get older, our expectations of them - and ourselves - can and must change.

“Mine has been an industrious sort of motherhood,” I wrote in an early draft of my book.

I later wound up cutting that line, worried it made me sound like a joyless worker bee. But it’s stuck in the back of my head anyway, because for much of the past two-and-a-half-plus decades, it’s been so essentially true - especially during the holidays.

While breastfeeding kept me lying down or sitting for much of early motherhood (I did the math once: altogether, I was nursing for over a decade), once that period had passed and I was able to do the majority of my mothering upright, I mostly stayed on my feet. With a large, active, and often boisterous family to keep fed and clothed and motivated, for many years motherhood has looked mostly like a calm but steady doing: buzzing around the kitchen, folding laundry, delegating and directing.

And at Christmas, that meant all the things I was already doing plus a whole huge list of new things to do: the shopping and the baking and the wrapping and the decorating. I performed my self-created role (doing all the things) while the kids performed theirs (enjoying all the things.) And since we weren’t a particularly organized or schedule-driven family, constant movement was, for me, in large part a strategy I call “active management”. By staying on my feet, I could keep the family one step ahead from dissolving into disorder.

In that way, puttering away in the kitchen or wrapping gifts in my bedroom didn’t feel like a punishment: these were opportunities to find peace and order amid the often noisy and confused moments of large-family living. And even with the steady hum of activity, it always felt like I got plenty of time with the children, individually and as a group. We were all together under one roof all the time, so there were many quiet pockets of connection nestled amid the bustle; a sort of calm chaos.

But all that has changed, and quickly, as I’ve realized over the last few Christmases. With a gradually shrinking window of time in which we could all enjoy one another’s company, plus new relationships and commitments to consider, I began to learn that a holiday spent cloistered away Getting Things Done while my kids all hung out in another room enjoying the fruits of my labor could quickly lead to feelings of deflation, disappointment, and resentment.

It all came to a head this year, The Christmas Everything Changed. For one thing, I have a growing stepfamily to fit into our family plans, including not only stepkids and their partners but also an adorable toddling grandbaby.

This year for Christmas, I got to re-experience the joy of baaaaby giiiiifts!

And also, for the first time this year, most of my kids now live Elsewhere. And not just down-the-street Elsewhere; I’m talking hundreds-of-miles-away Elsewhere.

Between overlapping work schedules, travel schedules, and other family commitments, when I did the math I figured I would only have about one full day to spend with all my own children together.

And that’s when I realized that it was past time to shift into another way of doing the holidays with my kids.

Instead of long leisurely days puttering in the kitchen while they clocked days’ worth of hours in flannel plaid pajamas in the other room, I had to rethink our pace so that we all didn’t miss out on the parts of the holiday that are most important to us. We’d have to get more organized so that a too-long shower or too-leisurely start to dinner didn’t mean running out of time for something else we really wanted to do.

And, I realized, I had to place myself squarely in the middle of the festivities - or I was going to miss them entirely while scraping plates in the kitchen.

It may have seemed a bit “extra”, as the elder Millennials say, to create a giant schedule and post it in the dining room. It might also seem to be counterintuitive when one’s hope is to create a calm and relaxed Christmas mood.

But actually, the schedule really helped. I wasn’t a dictator about it: the start times were only approximate, with plenty of time between each activity for bathroom breaks. It was ultimately flexible, too: we skipped the game portion of the evening entirely because we spent half an hour unsuccessfully looking for the Quiddler cards, and then we all opted for a bit of a family-time breather instead of playing charades (I used my break to indulge in a long, hot, quiet bath).

But for the most part, the schedule kept us on track and made sure we got around to all the most things we really wanted to do. Which was, mostly, being together.

(Also, that gingerbread house competition? That was new this year, and while I initially sensed a bit of resistance to the idea, everyone got on board and in the end we all had a ton of fun.)

Prizes helped.

The other thing I loved about this year’s family holiday? I felt like I was truly a part of the whole thing, frequently able to step away from the role of chief ringmaster and just enjoy myself.

As we piled onto the sofa for our annual viewing of the Spongebob “Christmas Who?” episode (Season 2, Episode 8) I marveled at how much easier it is to relax around my kids now that, well, most of them aren’t kids anymore.

They’re all able to get themselves to the kitchen to prepare a snack (even if it’s a snack I had the foresight to put in the fridge.) They’re able to sit and watch a program without squirming or climbing over the back of the sofa. They’re old enough to humor their mom by donning the plaid pajamas, sticking the graham crackers together with frosting, watching the same old shows and listening to the same old playlists without complaint…even if they aren’t always in the mood.

All of that is to say, they’re old enough to show up in a new way now; as active participants instead of simply passive recipients of whatever magic I have it in me to dole out.

That give-and-take is part of what we learn by growing up in family, and holidays are always best when they’re a mix of giving and receiving.

On Christmas morning, my kids came downstairs to find the same five stuffed stockings they’ve been digging into for years. But there was a stocking for me, too, filled by my kids with some of my favorite magazines and chocolates. They’d bought and wrapped me a few gifts, including a hilarious canvas print of a rooster that they’re hoping I’ll hang in the chicken coop, and an epically loud Christmas cardigan that will now become part of my holiday uniform.

They gave each other gifts, too; thoughtful little tokens that showed how much they really know and appreciate one another, and the gratitude was genuine.

As we have done for the past several years, after our Christmas morning it was time for my kids to head to their dad’s house. As they cleaned up and prepared to go, I hugged them each in turn (and then hugged each of them again, and again, as I pressed containers of leftover food into their hands and repeated the same farewells: with five kids, goodbyes are inevitably long, chaotic, and filled with redundancies).

More than once, while reaching up to embrace these young men who now mostly tower over me, or pulling my daughter - the last remaining shorter-than-me child - into my arms, I heard, “Best Christmas ever, Mom.”

As my heart swelled, I was reminded again that the way we meet this moment matters.

The lasting impact of a mother at Christmas

For over two and a half decades, I’ve put in so many hours of work leading up to, and during, the holidays. Some years I’ve been overwhelmed, others exhausted, and sometimes I’ve been not particularly in the mood, but I’ve shown up anyway, in whatever way I was able to at that moment.

And despite all the work - and the occasional grumpiness about the work - I can honestly say that I love Christmas; specifically, I love being a mom, even Head-Mom-In-Charge, at Christmas. And looking back I wouldn’t hand over the holiday to someone else to manage even if they’d have done it better, or saved me the effort.

Perfection has never been the point, only presence.

In some ways, this year was no different. I worked hard to pull off a memorable holiday because it matters to me, and because I believe it matters to my family, too.

But as I’d hoped this year, much of the holiday magic happened in the weeks leading up to Christmas, when most of my children weren’t actually around. So this year a lot of the festivities were more focused on myself - the little solo rituals I nurtured, the treats I baked for my own joy - and the one child I still have under my roof.

I think that’s why it was so gratifying to see my kids working, each in their own way, to give back to the experience when we all got together. I’m learning to relax around my kids, and one of the reasons that finally feels possible is that I don’t have to pull all the weight anymore.

After the many, many hours of being the primary magic-maker and tradition-holder, I’m slowly making space to step back. Some day, maybe sooner than I expect, my children will host holiday gatherings of their own, and I’ll hopefully be an invited guest to experience some part of that magic, too.

And whether my offsprings’ future celebrations are boisterous or reserved, I have to believe they’ll carry forward the whispers of Christmases from our past: both the years I had the energy for schedules and schemes and the years we simply flopped on the sofa in our plaid pajamas with pizza and movies.

They’re all part of our family’s shared Christmases and, by extension, our shared story.

I’ve truly loved my stint as the keeper of the magic. But I know better than to try to cling to that role. Old traditions will be re-imagined, new ones created; as my kids step into their adult lives more fully, their experiences of the holiday will be molded and melded.

I don’t have to be the ringmaster forever; I just hope to be there in some small way: the touch of my hand in the way a stocking is filled, perhaps, or the snacks arranged on the tray. The recollection of the way things were flavoring the way they will be. “Remember the year we…” they’ll maybe still be saying to one another years from now, even after I’m no longer around to remember along with them.

What bigger and better legacy could there possibly be?

It’s been such a joy to write about holiday mothering from my emptying nest this year for you all, friends. In case you missed the posts I wrote about experiencing Christmas with older kids, you can find them all here.

Coming up…

I have a handful of fun announcements to make in the upcoming week, including some book news + my publishing plans for 2025 (including a change to the name of this publication, and a refinement of its focus.) Look for a new post coming soon from The Kettle with Meagan Francis.

And I’d love to hear your thoughts about what kind of writing or other offerings you’d like to see from me this year. Leave a comment, hit “reply” to this email, or send a message on Substack and let me know!