I always thought we were a Hallmark kind of family. Hayden still leaves me love notes in my coffee mug, and our daughter Mya asks the kind of questions that make you believe in magic.
Every December, I try to bottle wonder for her—snow globe living rooms, caroling, reindeer food. This year, I had Nutcracker tickets wrapped in gold beneath the tree.
On Christmas Eve, Mya asked, “Don’t Santa’s reindeer get tired? Maybe they need sandwiches. People need choices.”
At 2 a.m., I found her bed empty—and my car keys gone. Panic surged. Then Hayden found her note: she’d left sandwiches and blankets for Santa’s reindeer… in the abandoned house across the street. Even offered my car “just in case.”
I found her curled beneath a blanket, pleased. “The reindeer can nap here.”
We tucked her back in, never mentioning the note. Some magic doesn’t need adult hands.
In the morning, she found a letter from Santa, thanking her—and Vixen especially—for the veggie sandwich. She beamed.
That day, amid ribbon and cinnamon rolls, I realized something: I didn’t need to create all the magic. Mya already glowed from within—her kindness lighting the house better than any string of lights ever could.
