I don’t scrapbook. But I do put up a Christmas tree.

And I imagine it’s basically the same thing.

My oldest is eight, and he unwraps an old ornament and holds it close to examine it.

“Mom, remember this guy?”

And I hear the excitement in his voice that makes me blink sentimental tears away.

Memories.

They’re in those handmade snowmen from preschool and in each of our Baby’s First ornaments hung up high, careful not to break.

They’re framed in photographs with Santa; each year, their legs dangling a little longer.

They’re in the lyrics they remember; the wish lists they make; the way they’re already counting down the days to Christmas morning.

But to me, it feels like just yesterday we were taking down last year’s tree. Like time is rushing right on by, and we’ll never get this exact merry little Christmas again.

So, this year, I’m focusing on making memories:

Baking cookies and seeing the lights and watching movies all snuggled up on the couch. Reading together, singing carols, taking every opportunity to explain what the miracle of Christmas really means.

Because I might not be able to give our kiddos everything they’ve circled in the catalog, but I can help give them a lifetime of memories to hold onto.

And maybe hang up on a Christmas tree of their own one day.

And I watch the Light of the World put a twinkle in their eyes as we sing Silent Night.

And I feel the hope that’s come. Because God so loved the world.

And no matter how big my kids get, I know each time the tree goes back up, I’ll always remember this.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

My favorite ornaments are the memories we’ve made together.