scribblechic

This holiday tradition above all others is perhaps my favorite; wishes stretched into words. I can see each child’s age clearly in the evolution of their penmanship and the colorful missteps of uncertain spelling; personalities as certain as their signatures in each messenger of memories.

This year, my daughter drafted a wish that is a most wonderful work of fiction; an impossible request that celebrates her confidence in magic. It is the second year I have wondered at the vastness of her faith while embracing the certainty of her impending disappointment.

It must be said that my children ask for little, they navigate need and want in a language my husband and I first shaped for them. The holidays are steeped in tradition over extravagance and togetherness over selfishness. We temper our wants with logic, but in these letters to Santa there is an expectation of magic that invites the impossible.

As my daughter sounded out her dream last night in lines drenched with hope, I hesitated to guide her pen. To critique her wish would cast judgement and to contrive to manipulate her wants would only postpone the inevitable reality of unavoidable disappointment. Instead, I let my daughter send her wish, knowing it would be met with a measure of heartache, and crafted my own wish into words.

Sweet Girl, One day I hope you see magic in the love that guards your dreams. I hope you live in possibility with eyes that see potential where others see limitations. Mostly, I hope your faith is always greater than your doubts, your joy greater than your disappointments. Love, Mom

Tagged: Christmas, Daughter, Musings