When the Holidays Are Full

The holidays have a way of feeling bigger than we expect.

More lights, more noise, more excitement, more everything. Trips get planned, traditions get packed in, expectations quietly pile up — and somewhere in the middle of it all, real life keeps happening.

Disneyland during the holidays held all of that, but in a way that felt surprisingly easy. No rushing. No strict schedule. Nowhere we had to be at a certain time. Just moving through the day at our own pace, letting things unfold. That made all the difference.

Standing in line at a sweet shop late one night, my attention was on the chocolate peanut butter squares and caramel apples sitting patiently behind the glass. That’s when I noticed a mom and her young son nearby. She was gently steering him toward the hanging, pre-packaged candy — the grab-and-go kind — clearly trying to avoid another long line, another decision, another potential meltdown at the end of a very full day.

No judgment. Just reality.

The kid pushed back. She redirected. He told her to shut up.

And in an instant, I felt it — that rush of heat, that full-body awareness, that quiet mortification that doesn’t need words. I’ve been that mom. More than once. A single parent trying to get through the moment, the day, the season… in front of people.

She got down to his level and followed through. I couldn’t hear what she said, but that wasn’t the point. What hit me was the familiarity of it. How hard we try. How much we want to give them everything — the treats, the magic, the memories — without realizing how overwhelming it can be for little nervous systems that don’t yet have words for “I’m done.”

I felt for her. I missed my boy in that moment.

I wanted to tell her it was okay. That this happens. That she wasn’t failing. That this moment wouldn’t define the trip or the memory or her motherhood. I wanted to play her favorite Taylor Swift song, make a heart with my hands, and remind her that we’ve all been there — and that it’s already okay, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

That’s what the holidays are starting to feel like to me now. Not just the plans or the traditions — but the awareness. The quiet compassion. The shared humanity in lines, in airports, in kitchens, in moments we never planned for.

Christmas this year will be simple. Familiar. Low-key. And that feels right.

The holidays don’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes they’re just full — of love, of noise, of sugar, of emotion — and we do the best we can with what’s in front of us.

And somehow, that’s enough.