We'll be waiting for you in the sun…

“I really like Christmas…”

My husband’s head shot up and he looked towards me, sitting on the couch across the room.

“I swear I didn’t queue this up,” he said, as Tim’s Minchin’s voice streamed from our Google Home speaker.

It was the end of a very long day. A day of Christmas traditions—the boys’ first Septa ride down to center city Philadelphia for the Macy’s Christmas Light show. The Light show is a core childhood memory for me and a Philly staple, one that I tried explaining to our older son as we crossed over Market Street. His response? “Well, I’m not from Phil-a-del-phia. I’m from England.”

(Yes, that’s exactly how and what my 3-year old said.)

It was a day of “Christmas merriment”, maneuvering through massive crowds—a rare 55 degree day in December, so obviously everyone had the same idea as us—and dealing with toddlers who were beyond exhausted and up way past their nap times.

Exhaustion that led to a level-3 meltdown when we eventually walked in our front door. It was the latest in a series of tantrums and behavior issues we’ve been having with our son—to the point that our Elf has gone back to the North Pole permanently and won’t return until he’s back on the Nice List. We don’t play. Two hours of hysterics, slammed doors and tears. You know, the normal 3-year old things. Not quite sure who cried more.

Hours later, my husband and I found ourselves in the basement, playing Christmas music for the boys and praying for bedtime.

When White Wine in the Sun came on.

It wasn’t the first listen of the season; Thanksgiving is usually the first every year, as we drive home from day’s festivities. But this one was perfectly timed. Specifically because there were no distractions; we could just listen.

“Daddy, this is your favorite Christmas song,” my older son reminded us, as he continued to build “castles” with his Magni-Tiles.

“You’re right, bud.”

“I don’t like this song. I like Jingle Bells.”

“That’s okay. We can all like different songs. But do you know why this is Daddy’s favorite?”

“Um. Me no know,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, bud. It’s about not seeing your family at Christmas and missing them. Daddy doesn’t always get to see his family at Christmas. Because they live in England, right?”

“Yeah. You miss your Mommy and Daddy.”

“I do. Especially at Christmas.”

“But we’re your family, too. Me, Mummy and Finnie.”

“You’re right bud.” He ruffled his hair and shot me a small grin.

And then, the greatest gift our son could’ve given his daddy happened; he joined Tim Minchin in his holiday ballad.

Silently watching this exchange from across the room—a sweet, innocent conversation between a dad and his son— is something I’ll never forget. My husband for sure won’t. It stopped me in my tracks and brought me free-falling from the stress of the day, back to the moment before my eyes. Back to the reason for the season and the joy my little family brings me. Brings us.