Moms Make the Magic: Revealing the True Wizards Behind the Green Curtain of Christmas Oz
This is a story about Christmas Magic—a modern-day tale, you could say.
It’s a story about the moment I realized that I, the matriarch of this family—the mom, the wife, the sister, the auntie—am in charge of the Christmas Magic. I am the ho ho ho, the jingle bells, the sugar sparkle, the wistful wonder—even if that means running the Christmas Magic Sparkle from behind my bedroom door, orchestrated via text, to the rest of my family members who are not in quarantine.
It was Christmas Eve 2023, and for the first time since the pandemic hit, I had tested positive for COVID. My beloved little brother and his son were visiting all the way from Brazil, and I was sitting in quarantine in my bedroom, stuffy-nosed and incredulous that this virus was still impacting our lives. I am rational enough to keep in perspective that COVID took much, much more away from millions of other people, but taking the mom out of the holiday magic show makes quite an impact.
The holidays are an incredibly significant season in my year. I relish the traditions, rituals, and treasured gathering of neighbors, friends, and family at the center of all holidays. My heart squeezes tight when the house smells of pine and orange decorations. Each year, around the end of November, I dig out my growing collection of holiday magazines and use them as a source of inspiration for the season to come. I know, I know. There is this thing called Pinterest. But if you are a regular reader of The Slow Weekender, you know that moseying through the pages of a magazine is one of my old-fashioned, and favorite, pastimes. So with a stack of magazines on the floor, a cup of tea, a cozy blanket, and the Ella Fitzgerald holiday album spinning on the record player, I settle in. This is my first ritual of the season. I use it to plan our annual holiday cocktail party (if you haven’t read my story about the now-quite-famous silver punch bowl, Grande Dame, a delightful tale awaits you!), Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinners, and all the traditions we will revisit up until the end of December.
On this less-than-festive holiday of 2023, our Christmas Eve traditions and celebrations were being orchestrated from the quarantine command center of my bedroom. Did I mention my husband also had COVID? Oh, yes. The ENTIRE parental system of our family was taken down. So many lovingly planned details were now in the hands of my teenage children, their uncle, and his eight-year-old son. And I might add that although my little brother, whom I love best, is an adult, he counts as an additional child in the room. So, technically, an adult was present for Christmas. But who was going to make sure all the details I had spent time poring over made their proper appearances: the cloth napkin choice, table decorations, grandma’s polished silver, Christmas poppers, flowers, and the selected china—not to mention the Christmas Eve meal itself? What happens when all this magic and sparkle has to be choreographed from behind the green curtain by the Oz of sugar plums and fairies?
What happens is a LOT OF TEXTING.
“Please set the table with the holiday plates. They are in the bottom left corner of the back of the china cabinet behind the red wine and under the sack of random decorating stuff. Do you see them???”
“Can you PLEASE try again to find the Christmas plates?”
“Do you know how to get the seeds out of a pomegranate for the salad? I’ll send you a YouTube video…”
“Can you make sure the kids are dressed up? They shouldn’t be wearing sweatpants to Christmas dinner.”
“Did you light the candles? Please light the candles for dinner!!!!!!”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Do I smell smoke?”
These messages flew through cyberspace, about 19 feet from my bedroom to the kitchen, and to my poor brother’s phone. I could feel him doing his best, and I could feel the magic losing some of its shine. He was stressed, my kids were out of sorts because both of their parents had COVID, and things were absolutely not as they are supposed to be.
My brother made dinner, which was served without a festive Christmas salad with pomegranate seeds. He forgot to put the vegetables in the shepherd's pie—BUT, the candles were lit. I wasn't able to make my annual Yule log for dessert, so they ate Christmas cookies from the tin the neighbor brought over. It was Christmas, but there was no sparkle. No magic.
I wasn’t upset with my brother, who tried hard. I was sad. I was sad for my family and my brother and nephew, who look forward to their American Christmas all year long. I also began to realize, for the first time with this level of understanding, the impact I have on my family’s holiday experience. My husband is an enthusiastic gift-giver and an excellent helper. Still, I am the one who carries all the details in my head and heart; I am the glue that holds the Christmas holiday sparkle together. I have complex feelings about this. On the one hand, I enjoy and am appreciative of my sacred role as kinkeeper, the term used to describe the family member who carries traditions from generation to generation, gathers everyone, and maintains emotional ties and connections.
On the other hand, this is a lot on one person’s plate. I had the heavy sense of how crucial yet overwhelming it is to be the kinkeeper. I also felt how much I want my children to find comfort in our traditions, and how the details of a beautifully set table, getting dressed up—if only for ourselves—and the annual making of the Yule log are integral parts of our collective memory-making. Without the attention to detail and the carrying of traditions, much of the texture and warmth of the experience is lost.
Santa has a Mrs. Claus and a gang of elves to help him pull off all the Christmas magic each year. I think that kinkeeping needs an update as dual-income households are the new norm. It was established as a female tradition when women were at home all the time, and the sacred role being held by the matriarchs made more sense. Now, the kinkeeping is both sacred and burdensome as holiday traditions and magic are layered on top of all the responsibilities women already carry in their family systems. I can continue as kinkeeper, but feel the need to modernize expectations and the role. Either women have to let go of some peripheral details and focus on high-quality, high-impact traditions, or they need help. Or both.
This year, I have decided to focus on quality over quantity and have scaled back my holiday commitments and scheduled time to BE with my family without DOING. I have actually blocked off downtime for all of us and kept only the most enjoyable and nostalgic activities. I have also asked my husband, my family, and even my friends to collaborate on certain aspects of our holiday celebration by hosting a potluck gathering this year instead of a party where my family prepares all the food. In this way, my role as kinkeeper remains, but with a much-needed lightening of the load. I don’t want to give up my role or suffer through it filled with resentment and overwhelm. I treasure being the sacred guardian of tradition and emotional connection. I also know that asking for help and asking myself hard questions about what quality over quantity really means are crucial to my contentment in this most magical time of year. After all, even Santa has to call in support and a team of many hands to pull off a sparkly, fairy-filled, mystical, and magical holiday. There is no doubt about what Santa and kinkeepers have in common: a heart filled with love, warmth, and a genuine longing for gathering and meaningful experiences. He has just never done it on his own—nor should we, the magic-making-moms.
Enjoy the slow- Heather