A few weeks ago, I took the kids through the Walkway of Lights here in Marion. My husband was working, and the kids were antsy. They wanted to get out of the houses, they wanted to do something. So we piled in the van and hit the road.

It was particularly busy that night at the lights, because it was unseasonably warm. We were hitting the mid-60s at 9 PM, and the park was full of people. We got just past the tollbooth to the dinosaur displays, and my girls started begging to stop the van and walk. My little man gleefully followed his sister’s example, so I pulled over in front of that little play area and we jumped out. The three of them ran ahead of me, squealing with delight to be outside, to be at the park, to be experiencing what is surely a magical atmosphere. We named all of the dinosaurs, though I only now remember the name for the T-Rex-Chuckles, if you’re wondering. They touched the light bulbs, running their little fingers over the steel frames, amazed at these creations that come to life only during this very special time of year. The lights reflected in their eyes, and they looked up at me and smiled. “Thanks, Mom,” is what my oldest daughter told me, and I was stunned by the perfect loveliness of the moment, outside on a warm December evening, dancing through the lights and full of wonder.

There were children playing at that little park, and I stood beside the slide, watching my kiddoes slide down and race up the stairs, again and again. Another little girl was doing the same thing, and her parents were standing beside me. “I think we’re here for a while,” is what the dad observed as they made their tenth trip up the stairs. “But we don’t get many days like this.”

When we made our way back to the van and finished our trip through the lights, one of my favorite songs came on. We listened to the music and pulled out of the park, waving good-bye to Santa. My youngest girl asked me why the lady singing was so sad at Christmas time, and it always has seemed to be a sad song to me. So I told her that the song was about how special Christmas is, and how it’s full of magic and joy and wonder. The song isn’t sad, but it’s delicate and fragile, like a barely whispered wish or a heartfelt prayer.

I have no other wish this week than this: that we’re all able to treasure the wonderful moments the holidays bring, because whether it’s snowing or 50 degrees, we don’t get many days like this. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. I’m Claire, the Afena blog mom. Thanks for reading.