As a mother raising three teenagers whose ages currently range from fourteen to eighteen, I can confidently say that I have accumulated years of experience as the designated creator and sustainer of what our family lovingly refers to as “holiday magic.” Although I never succumbed to the modern tradition of introducing the mischievous Elf on the Shelf into our home—something I have absolutely no regrets about—I enthusiastically embraced nearly every other seasonal custom imaginable. From cozy, glittering train rides decked in twinkling lights to standing in line for those ever-essential photos with Santa at the local mall, we took part in the full range of festive experiences that mark the season for so many families.
When my kids were small, the interval between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day felt like an endless whirl of joyful activity layered atop complete exhaustion. Every weekend was scheduled with some sort of celebration—a holiday market here, a school party there, and, of course, countless craft projects and cookie-baking marathons. By the time the new year arrived, I found myself simultaneously fulfilled by the joy it all brought to my children and utterly worn out by the relentless pace. There was something both magical and overwhelming about late-night toy assembly sessions under the glow of the Christmas tree, as I tried to keep the illusion of Santa alive. The collision of my children’s uncontainable excitement with my own sleep deprivation embodied the dual nature of parenthood: joy tempered with fatigue. Yet one glance at their luminous faces on Christmas morning, as they discovered a LEGO set or a butterfly-growing kit, always reminded me why all that effort mattered.
As my children entered their tween years, the atmosphere shifted in subtle yet significant ways. Gone were the days of wide-eyed wonder and boundless enthusiasm. Suddenly, the once-beloved activities—such as our annual drive through the neighborhood in search of the most spectacular holiday light displays—were met with groans and eye rolls. Activities that used to generate pure delight began to feel contrived, as though I were forcing them to participate in something manufactured. I often found myself pleading for company, offering promises of hot cocoa or issuing lighthearted threats just to get at least one child into the car. These were the years when “family fun” required negotiation, when my nostalgia for our old traditions met with their growing independence and resistance.
But time, as it often does, brought about change. It was only in the past year or so that I noticed a remarkable transformation unfolding in my children’s attitudes toward the holidays. My eldest, now eighteen, surprised me when she began planning a trip to the pumpkin patch with her high school friends. For years, I had accepted that the pumpkin-picking outing was part of our past; we had settled for grocery-store pumpkins because no one wanted to make the effort, and I was unwilling to pay the steep patch prices just to face off with reluctant participants. So when she casually announced her Friday-night pumpkin adventure, I felt a quiet thrill of happiness and nostalgia. There is something profoundly reassuring about teenagers choosing wholesome, traditional activities on their own terms.
The surprises did not end there. When the holiday season rolled around and I hesitated to begin decorating the moment Thanksgiving leftovers were cleared, my fourteen-year-old son unexpectedly took charge. Without being asked, he hung the stockings with careful attention and even began arranging ornaments on the tree. My middle child, not wanting to be outdone, tackled the task of putting up the outdoor lights entirely independently—a first in our family’s holiday history. Then, to my astonishment, the same group of kids who had for years dismissed certain seasonal outings suddenly asked whether we would visit the nearby drive-thru lights display again. My answer, of course, was an enthusiastic yes.
Observing this shift has filled me with a sense of quiet gratitude. The activities that once seemed embarrassing or tedious to my children have somehow regained their meaning. There is something undeniably beautiful about watching them rediscover joy in traditions that were nearly lost to the passage of time. While nothing can replicate the sheer wonder of those early childhood holidays—when belief in Santa infused every decoration with enchantment—there is an equally profound satisfaction in witnessing my teenagers rekindle that spirit in their own way. Now, instead of me orchestrating every detail, they approach the season with a new sense of ownership and initiative. The magic they bring is different, but no less real.
For so many years, I felt an unspoken responsibility to hold all the pieces of our family’s festive joy together—to make every moment special, every activity meaningful. Yet as my kids have grown, I’ve realized that stepping back has allowed something much more genuine to emerge. Their gestures, once prompted by parental expectation, now arise from their own desire to nurture tradition. As they inch closer to adulthood and prepare to eventually leave the nest, I find deep comfort in seeing them invest their energy in reviving and reshaping the rituals that defined their childhood. In letting go of my role as the sole architect of holiday magic, I’ve discovered the quiet bliss of witnessing it blossom through them—a living inheritance of love, joy, and continuity that will carry far beyond our home.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/teens-embracing-holiday-traditions-they-once-avoided-2025-12
