The Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

For Mom’s Who are Tired and Still Trying

I’ll be honest — I don’t have the energy for a perfect Christmas this year.

I work.
I’m tired.
Most days I’m just trying to get everyone fed and into bed without losing my patience.

And for a long time, I thought that meant I was falling short.

But today we made cookies with Grammy — messy, loud, imperfect cookies — and something clicked.

The cookies weren’t pretty.
The kitchen was a disaster.
The kids argued over icing colors.

And yet… everyone was happy.

It reminded me that Christmas isn’t about creating something impressive.
It’s about creating something felt.

Our kids won’t remember how things looked.
They’ll remember who they were with.

And that takes so much pressure off.

This year, I’m choosing the Christmas that fits our real life.
Not perfect.
Not curated.
Just warm, shared, and real.

Cookie Day Reality Check

You know how social media makes baking look like this serene, magical, bonding experience?
Yeah. No.

Our cookie day looked like:

kids arguing over who gets the red icing
Grammy trying to follow the recipe while answering a million questions
me telling my 2 year old to stop eating the frosting at least ten times
cookies that were a bit too soft and would break
and sprinkles everywhere (I mean everywhere)
and yet… giggling over the “ultimate” cookie they created

But when I stepped back and just watched them… it hit me how sweet it actually was.

Not in a photo-worthy way.
Not in a “look at this beautiful tradition we created” way.
But in a this is real life and it’s good way.

This Isn’t the Christmas I Used to Try to Create… and That’s a Good Thing

There was a time I tried way too hard to make Christmas feel magazine-worthy.

Matching outfits.
Perfectly iced cookies.
Coordinated wrapping paper.
Activities every weekend.
Everything “just so.”

And guess what?

No one cared.
Not my husband.
Not my kids.
Not my family.

And definitely not me… at least not in a way that mattered.

The only thing I ended up creating was stress and feeling like I needed to do more to make everyone’s Christmas perfect.

Now?
I’m okay with the clutter.
I’m okay with the crooked ornaments.
I’m okay with the cookies that look like abstract art.

Because I’m not chasing an aesthetic anymore.
I’m chasing moments. Now that I have teenagers I understand the magic is fleeting and its more about the memories.

The Real Memories We’re Actually Making

When I think about the holidays I loved as a kid, I don’t remember perfect decorations or beautifully wrapped presents.

I remember:

who I was with
laughing in someone’s warm kitchen
the way the house smelled
the whir and grinding of the ice cream maker
the “big deal” moments that weren’t actually big at all
traditions that didn’t require money, preparation, or coordinated pajamas

And I want that for my kids — not the version of Christmas that feels curated, but the one that feels lived in and real.

I promise you:
They’re not going to remember whether your mantle looked picture perfect or the cookies looked like art.
They’re going to remember how it felt to be in a home where they made core memories and were wrapped in love.

In Case You Need This Reminder…

You’re not behind.
You’re not failing because your house is a mess.
You’re not “less than” because your Christmas doesn’t look Instagram-ready.

You’re here.
You’re trying.
You’re showing up.
And that’s more than enough.

If your cookies are lopsided, if your tree is ornament heavy on the bottom half because it was decorated by small hands, if your wrapping paper doesn’t match, if your house is louder than you wanted it to be — good.

It means your Christmas is real.
It means memories are being made and love is being shared.

And honestly?
That’s the kind of holiday I want to keep having.

With love (and flour still stuck to my shirt),
Aurora 🤍

This Means Home