December, As It Actually Is

I was asked a simple question recently: What is the hardest, most stressful part of this season for you right now?

At first, the obvious answer came to mind — the lists, the logistics, the endless things to do. But the more honest answer was deeper than that.

What’s hardest is that my heart wants to slow down.

I want to curl up on the couch. I want to watch Christmas movies, bake cookies, sit in the quiet glow of the tree. I want space to be inside the season — not perform it. And instead, I feel like there’s a long list of obligations I have to complete before I’m allowed to enjoy any of that.

That disconnect has been heavy.

Carrying All The Things

The week of Thanksgiving, Nate’s grandmother passed away. Around the same time, a major snowstorm arrived and plans shifted quickly.

That week held grief, travel, logistics, and a lot of emotional weight — the kind that doesn’t leave much room for preparation or forward motion. It wasn’t about losing time so much as moving through something that asked for our full presence.

So when December arrived — and Vivie’s Nutcracker performances followed soon after — the season felt fuller from the start.

The Nutcracker itself was wonderful. It’s a holiday tradition we love, and watching Vivie dance was special and joyful.

Vivie, the littlest ballerina, front and center ❤️

And it was also exhausting. Between rehearsals, holiday parties, performances, late nights, and back-to-back commitments, the days moved quickly and left very little margin.

All Of My Best Laid Plans

We had carved out a quiet Monday after the Nutcracker — a family day to decorate the tree, watch Christmas movies, and ease into the season together. But we were already so behind on all of the other things.

Eventually, we did get the tree up — and it was lovely. But the pause we had imagined never really came. Decorations still needed finishing. Work still needed attention. Houseguests were coming. Gifts were still on the list.

I remember Vivie asking to watch Christmas movies together and realizing at the end of the day that I never got to it — not because I didn’t want to, but because the space we had planned for rest had already been filled.

We had planned for December. We made the lists, divided responsibilities, and felt steady going into it. We set the boundaries. And still, the shape of the season changed — as it does.  I felt like a failure. Wasn’t this what it’s all about? That quiet disappointment lingered longer than I expected.

What I’m Learning to Let Count

I don’t think the answer is better planning or trying harder to “protect” rest. We did that. Life still happened. What I’m learning is that December doesn’t require less doing — it requires a different way of moving through the doing.

The mistake we make is assuming rest only counts if everything else is finished. That we earn ease once the list is crossed off. But for parents — especially working parents — the list rarely ends. At Le Village, we’ve learned: care has to exist inside the chaos, not after it. That’s why our model looks the way it does. Parents don’t have to choose between showing up for their kids and showing up for their work. You don’t have to leave your child to get something done — and you don’t have to abandon yourself to be present for them either. You exist in the same space, alongside people who understand exactly what season you’re in.

And what that creates isn’t really more time — it’s connection. With your kids. With your family. With yourself.

I’ve been realizing lately that this same mindset applies to Christmas. The season doesn’t slow down just because we want it to. The lists don’t magically disappear. The chaos is still there — just with twinkle lights layered on top.

So instead of waiting for the version of rest that requires everything to be finished, I’m trying to let Christmas exist inside the life we’re already living. I don’t have time for a full reset. I don’t have time for a spa day. I don’t even have time for an entire Christmas movie yet. What I do have are small windows — and I’m learning to let those count.

For me, that means leaning into purposeful gratitude. Not in a poisonous -- grit-your-teeth-and-bare-it way -- but as a grounding one. Naming the things I’m grateful for reminds my busy brain that even when my to-do list feels unfinished, I am not a failure. I’m actually living a life I once dreamed about. That perspective doesn’t erase the chaos — but it helps me enjoy it.

I wrote more about this practice and creating it with Vivie here.

.

For others, it might look different.

Maybe it’s a short walk around the block to look at your neighbors’ Christmas lights.

Maybe it’s sitting with a cup of coffee in the glow of the tree before the house wakes up or after they go to sleep without jumping into the next task.

Maybe it’s bringing your partner a Christmas cookie and a kiss — no agenda, no conversation required.

Maybe it’s sneaking outside for a snowball fight with your child.

Maybe it's scream-singing "All I Want For Christmas Is You" in the car alone.

Maybe it’s pouring a glass of wine, putting on your favorite holiday record and letting that be the moment, even if everything else is still undone.

An Imperfect Way In

None of this is about doing Christmas “right.” It’s about finding small ways to be inside it — even while it’s messy.

So if I have any advice at all, it’s this:

Don’t wait for the version of the season that’s calm and complete. Ask yourself how you can enjoy the chaos you’re already in — even briefly. And if you get lost in the overwhelm, try thinking to yourself: What in my life right now would a past version of me have dreamed of?

Because December doesn’t need perfection. It needs presence — and permission to be lived as it is: full, imperfect, beautiful, and most importantly, enough.

Happy Merry —Daniella