Holiday Families, sometimes you hear that and think, not me! And yet, there’s something undeniably bittersweet about it.
You know the type; those people you love deeply yet only see when there’s a turkey in the oven or stockings hanging on the mantel. They’re family, yes, but the rhythm of life seems to hold us apart until the calendar tells us it’s time to gather.
On my husband’s side, holidays are never small. He comes from a huge sibling base, and when they all gather, it’s loud, busy, and bursting at the seams. There’s always someone telling a story, someone laughing too hard at the wrong moment, and always too much food (though no one’s complaining about that).
My side of the family looks much different. It’s just my mom and I now. We don’t have a lot of close family members who get together often and honestly, it doesn’t carry the same kind of built-in closeness that a big sibling network brings. In some ways, it makes me treasure my husband’s side of the family even more — because I know how rare it is to have that kind of noise and connection in one place.
Then there are my kids, my grandkids, and the family we’ve built ourselves. I don’t really consider us a holiday family; we get together as much as humanly possible but getting everyone in the same room outside of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and birthdays feels nearly impossible. Everything depends on juggling in-laws, work shifts, kids’ schedules, and vacations. Life has a way of pulling all of us in a dozen different directions, and sometimes those directions don’t line up. Still, if we send a text saying we’re having a barbecue or a spaghetti feed, you can bet they make their best effort to come. It doesn’t always mean everyone can be there—but the effort is always felt.
When my kids were growing up, I always imagined they’d be close. I pictured Sunday dinners, spontaneous drop-ins, maybe even noisy game nights where you could barely hear yourself think. Instead, reality has gently set in. They’re older now, building busy lives of their own, and those lives have to come first. But when they do walk through the door and we’re all together, it feels like all the planets have aligned. Nothing brings a mom more joy than that moment.
Don’t get me wrong we talk to our kids almost daily thanks to technology and we visit each other often but I cherish the holidays, something just brings me back in time when we are all in the same room. The laughter, the familiar smells coming from the kitchen, the jokes that have been told so many times they’ve become tradition. Like how Dad is always ready with a garbage bag the second the wrapping paper hits the floor. At this point, it’s practically scripture.
Christmas has become our anchor point—the one non-negotiable. No matter the work schedules or competing commitments, Christmas happens. And for that, I’m grateful. Because at least once a year, I get to see everyone together.
And maybe that’s the beauty of it. These holidays and significant moments become anchor points—guaranteed reunions in an otherwise unpredictable sea of schedules.
I’m learning, as the years pass, that closeness doesn’t always look like constant presence. Sometimes it looks like falling back into old rhythms after weeks or months apart. It looks like hugs that linger a little longer, or shared memories that send the room into belly laughs. It’s imperfect, but it’s real.
That’s my deepest hope is that when my husband and I are gone, our kids will carry these traditions forward. That they’ll make the effort to gather, not just for the food or the presents, but because being together matters. Even if life only gives us holiday families, those holidays become the threads that tie us back to one another.
Until then, I’ll keep setting the table, laughing at the same old stories, and wondering what on earth I’m going to do with all the leftover food.
Merry Christmas to you and your family, wherever you are.
The Other Side of Nice 