ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS...

On the third day of Christmas our little family…read a Christmas book together.

As a little kid, I lived for Christmas. I thought about it all year and every December 26th didn't hesitate to start talking about plans for the next one. A little obsessed? Yes. Pretty normal for a little kid? Of course.

Second to Christmas morning, my favorite event of the season was the day we decorated the inside of our home. My mom would put an old Johnny Mathis Christmas album on our stereo and we would spend an entire Saturday afternoon coating each room in holiday bling.

The first order of business was to dig out the boxes of Christmas decorations that lived in the back of my brother's closet the rest of the year. As far as I was concerned, no matter how old and worn the cardboard, each box was a treasure chest that I delighted in opening for my mom. Each decoration had an assigned spot in our home were it stayed until after New Year's day. My mom removed each decoration and, unless it was fragile or hung in a spot I was too short to reach, reminded me where to put it. This lasted for hours until we reached my favorite box- the Christmas books. I never needed a reminder of where we kept them during the holidays. I would carefully gather them in my arms and walk downstairs to our gameroom and sit on the floor in front of the bookcase. She never said anything, but I have no doubt that my mom knew that once those books were in my hands she was on her own to finish the decorating.

Most of the books were Little Golden Books. Many were versions of classic holiday stories- The Christmas Story, Santa's Toy Shop and Frosty the Snowman to name a few. My eyes danced over the words and illustrations for hours. They were like old friends that I hadn't seen in a year. To this day I get chills thinking about how it felt to revisit those pages again and again throughout the season.

When I went away to college my days of helping put up the decorations came to an end. The books still decorated our bookshelf, but I had less time to sit and look at them. Silly me. I should have realized that someday I might not have the chance to go to them to fill me with the spirit of the season. I eventually moved out and years later Mom sold the house. I imagine that the books were donated to a charity thrift store along with most of the decorations.

I haven't thought about those books much during my adult years. Last night, as we sat and tried to read a Christmas book to our sleepy baby, my mind raced back to those days in my childhood and the special books that made me smile. I looked down at the Little One and made a wish that someday, without trying, he'll find that kind of holiday magic in himself.