1. The results of some grade school career aptitude test
2. Photo proving that I still have this shirt I bought in 1994 at Yoyo a Gogo

I was clearing out my summer clothes and pulling out the winter ones the other day when I found this old Crayon shirt. Putting on the t-shirt, it doesn’t feel so old, although I definitely look ages older in the photo than I did when I first put on the shirt at 19…back in the days where 30 sounded ancient and knitting or crafting would have seen anything but DIY and feminist.

The career aptitude test was a treat, as I don’t think you could get a more random list of mismatched careers if you had thrown this in the blender. But those were the days when it really seemed possible to be all those careers at once, or atleast be a veterinarian and a FBI agent simultaneously while also running an ice cream stand on the side. Those were the days where anything was possible, days that happen fewer and farther between as the years progress.

Today I got my letter from the Chicago Sun-Times Season of Sharing. It’s from an 8 year old who, in her letter to Santa, writes why she deserves a present. Not a whole slew of them, just one. She doesn’t ask for a sled and a play kitchen and skis and a pony. She just informed Santa that she’s done her homework and chores everyday and therefore deserves one single gift.

I spent 8 hours today working on a window display for a gift shop in town. After fighting with two fake sparkly tinsel Christmas trees for a few hours, I kept wondering when the holidays were going to hit me. If it wasn’t hitting me as I was untangling fairy lights and ending up covered myriad specks of glitter, then when in the hell was it going to happen? And could love can really be wrapped and contained within a flimsy cardboard box or skating reindeer wrapping paper?

But it wasn’t until after giving up on dislodging the fake snow and glitter from my clothes and hair, that I finally felt the most holiday spirit. Not because I was excited that I finally got the perfect ornament placement for the trees (but I did!) or tied the coolest bow or listened to “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies” about eighteen times.

It was at the bottom of my 3rd grader’s letter to Santa that warmed me and had me wishing of big cups of cocoa and fireplaces and carols and twinkling lights and warm hugs and anticipation. It wasn’t anything miraculous or deep or pensive that made me cry, just a little sentence that conveyed the hope and kindness that all kids should have this holiday season.

Scrawled in tiny writing in the bottom corner of the letter was written, “Thank you and remember to eat all your cookies with milk and say Hi to Mrs. Claus!” And there was the magic and the holidays. It was the tiniest instructions written with care and concentration to Santa with regards to the wife at the bottom of a letter with one sole request that really finally made it seem like Christmas. Once again, the wisdom of a child rings the truest and the brightest and makes magic (and even mismatched careers) seem possible.