Before kids, I used to have standards.
High ones.
My Christmas tree gleamed. My cushions were fluffed. Surfaces stayed clear for more than ten consecutive minutes. And for a while, even after my first child was born, I clung to that ideal. I could still keep things pretty.
But eventually, I just had to give in. It was just impossible to do it all. Visual perfection and real life with children do not mix.
Everywhere we look, we are shown these flawless Christmas scenes. Curated shelves. Matching pyjamas. Magazine ready trees. It is easy to believe that this is the goal.
But the real achievement? Is giving ourselves grace.
Because this chapter, the one with sticky hands, lopsided baubles and plastic toys under the tree, is the one we look back on with misty eyed nostalgia. This is the magic.
Not the visual perfection we strive for, but the lived in, joy soaked imperfection of children who make Christmas what it is.
And oh, how imperfect it can be...
When the girls where 2 and 5, in a moment of surrender, I handed my kids a tiny scraggly tree and all the decorations I never use. A riot of colours. Tangled lights. And I just… watched.
A random toy Minion, a penguin bauble and a star all wrestled together at the top of the tree.
It hurt my eyes. It still does. A true assault on the senses. And I still can’t get over the Minion.
But they loved it.
And now my only regret? Is that I didn’t take a proper photo. Just one blurry iPhone shot that doesn’t do their joy justice.
As a photographer, you would think I would know better. As a mother, I should know best.
So here’s my plea, from one parent to another:
Take the picture anyway.
Take it even if your house is messy.
Take it even if the lights do not match.
Take it even if the tree looks like it survived a small tornado.
One day, when the baubles have broken and the kids can reach the top of the tree themselves, these imperfect photos will be the ones that mean everything.
Take the photo.
Take ALL the photos.