This is the week of Christmas, and it looks different than it once did.
There was a time when Christmas morning was Loud and full, when little feet rush down the hall and the magic depended on me. I remember those years fondly. They were a gift.
Now, I stand back and watch my grown children create that same wonder for their own little ones. And somehow, it is even more beautiful. They carry our traditions forward, adding their own touches, their own laughter, their own magic, only in the way my children can. It feels familiar and brand new all at once.
" if I didn't raise my children to be better than I am, i have failed"
by that measure, I am a success.
I'm so proud of the people my children have become. I am grateful Beyond words for the parents they are, the love they show, and the way they now understand on a deeper level what it mean to raise them. They tell me they see now. They appreciate it now. And that is a gift I never expected but cherish deeply.
One of my daughters has chosen a different path, no children of her own, but she is a wonderful aunt, a financial success, and a true advisor. Her life is full and meaningful. In its own beautiful way the family glue. I am proud of her journey.
This season reminds me that traditions don't end, they grow. They are carried, expanded, and make new by the Next Generation. And watching that happen is one of the greatest joys of my life.
This Christmas, my heart is full.