And just like that, the holiday season is upon us. No, our tree isn’t up quite yet (this pic is from last year). But if you were taking cues from my social media feed (or my bank account) you would assume that it’s been Black Friday for three weeks already. Alas, it is only just beginning.

Growing up I was fortunate to experience a holiday season that was pure magic. Six weeks filled with excitement, anticipation and gratitude. The meticulously placed decorations, hunger-inducing scents, and the melodies that I might as well have been born knowing, wrapped me in true comfort and joy. As an adult I understand that underneath all that magic was my mother perfecting her gift bows and laboring over a hot stove to make her famous buckeye cookies. True holiday magic is created through acts of love and devotion.

Becoming an adult who was responsible for making the magic for my own children scuffed the sparkle just a touch. Sure, it is an incredible feeling to create holiday magic for your little ones, but it is also freaking hard and stressful. We have these visions of what this season is supposed to be, our traditions and familial expectations. It’s a lot. Throw in some grief and you’ve just about sanded that holiday shine down to a rough matte.

My friend Carole Mac is hosting a seminar called, “Take Back Your Holidays” about owning your holidays again after experiencing grief and it got me thinking about who is actually in possession of my holidays: Is it my unattainable expectations? My unpredictable grief? Or could it possibly be me? Spoiler, it’s not me, not yet anyway. But I think I would like it to be me again.

It's been a minute since I’ve felt in charge of my holiday season. My loss of control started long before Adelaide’s passing. Holidays with Adelaide were comparably difficult to those without her. I mourned being able to buy her the gifts a typical child her age would enjoy, also epilepsy and her other various rare diseases didn’t take holidays off sooo… that sucked.

My holiday seasons have layered on the grief, from one source or another, year after year. Like my daily grief, this is something I will learn to live with. Then there was last year, a straight clusterfuck of emotions as we celebrated our first holidays with Strawbaby. It was a thrill to have her, to see the wonder and excitement in her sweet little face, but wow did the guilt of enjoying the holidays with Strawbaby - in a way we never could with Adelaide - sucker punch the wind out of me. That’s not totally fair, I saw it coming but that didn’t lessen the blow.

I don’t pretend to know exactly where the hooks will come from this year but come they will. My preparation for them begins now as we make plans for Thanksgiving next week. Between Miguel’s show schedule (two shows Wednesday, Thursday off, two shows Friday and two shows Saturday) and our families being flights away, we are no strangers to a festive Friendsgiving. But even that, this year, felt overwhelming and exhausting.

Thanksgiving is like a battering ram into the holiday season, leaving the barred door to our emotional reserves in splinters. This year, I’m going to try an unobtrusive knock on that door followed by a calm and peaceful enter. By that I mean we are doing absolutely nothing for Thanksgiving this year. Zero. I plan to spend the day in my pj’s watching the parade and football while playing with the kids. We have ordered food that will be almost entirely premade. I might make crescent rolls from one of those cans… maybe. Part of me considers this blasphemy but mostly I’m excited for a day where our family can slow down and just be present with each other. A day where instead of exhausting my energy trying to get somewhere, or look nice, or cook a specific thing, or feel a certain way – we can instead refuel.

This is an entirely new tactic for me and could epically backfire. I am far more accustomed to loading myself with distractions to push through tough days but this year doing nothing feels right so I’m going with it. I want to be better prepared to enjoy this holiday season. I can still acknowledge Adelaide’s absence and how freaking unfair it all is. I can still miss her and wish more than anything in the world that she was with us. But I can also multi-task. I don’t know that I’m ready to take back my holidays just yet, but I am ready to share them. I’m ready to buff a little of the sparkle back into the season and to experience the holidays through the awe and wonder of my children. No battering ram necessary.