I thought the best holidays were going to be when my kids were little. I was wrong.

• Christmas with adult kids brings new joy and less pressure for parents during the holidays.
• The author reflects on past Christmases, realizing adult children create lasting family traditions.
• Blending old and new holiday rituals with grown children can strengthen family bonds and increase happiness.

My daughter-in-law called me recently to ask about Secret Santa. She was wondering if everyone would get involved, if I had any thoughts on stocking stuffers, and if there was anything in particular I might want, other than the Costco-sized jar of peanut M&Ms I had mentioned about 1,000 times.

My youngest son texted not long after to let me know he got three full days off for Christmas. He’ll be bringing his cat for a visit. We’ll all buy him cat treats. We will prepare casseroles and cookies, as well as overnight cinnamon rolls for the morning. We will wait to watch the main event, the Christmas movies, until we are all together.

This is my Christmas with adult kids. The kind of Christmas I dreaded when my four sons were little and I thought I had just those magical 18 holidays with them before it would all end.

I thought the best times were when they were little

I thought those Christmases were the best I would ever see as a mom because I think that’s the story we are sold. Christmas is for kids. It’s better with kids. It’s more fun, more magical, more everything. And I’ll tell you that I really wrung every second of joy out of Christmas when my kids were little in an absolute panic of memory-making.

I pushed the Santa agenda far longer than was socially acceptable. I baked every day, built gingerbread houses, and attended every Christmas concert. I bought the matching pajamas, I collected special ornaments and kept them in boxes for the boys to hang on our tree every year, no matter what.

I think I idolized the holidays, like a good Christmas might make up for any other shortcomings during the rest of the year. I overlooked how tough it really was on me in favor of the good mom checkmark I might get at the end of it all.

I can finally admit it was hard

And it was hard on me. I can admit this finally. Not just because I was on my own with my sons or because we were living right around the poverty line. But because I genuinely believed that the only Christmases that mattered happened when my kids were little. It was like a Doomsday clock was ticking down on my every year, tied up with a neat red bow. I had to build memories for them at any cost so they would have happy childhood memories and not look back on our life together as a failure.

I wish I could go back and talk to the stressed-out mom I was then. I would tell her that she could stop spending important January bill money on December toys. I would tell her that her kids will be OK. And yes, they want a few toys, but they will remember about one quarter of them by the next year.

Most of all, I would tell her that she has way more fun holidays ahead than she thinks. I would even argue that Christmas with adult kids is better than it is with little kids. The pressure is off. Right or wrong, they are grown now. I don’t have to keep any kind of special magic alive for them; they’ve seen behind the curtain, and they know I was back there all along.

It’s not all just on me

They see me. They appreciate me. Best of all, they are back behind the curtain with me now, too. They provide, along with me, trips to the grocery store for forgotten spices, coffee cream, and extra napkins. They buy gifts and tell me not to worry about anything. They lighten my load. I’m no longer the keeper of Christmas; we all are. Bringing a different kind of magic to whatever days we might have together over the holidays.

We bring in the old traditions from when they were kids, but also leave the door open for new things. New recipes, new ideas on how to celebrate. Chinese takeout for Christmas Eve one year or homemade pizza, depending on everyone’s work schedule. A little Baileys in our coffee while we open stockings. All of us together. The five of us, along with new partners, are perhaps the best Christmas gift of all. New family members who bring their own family traditions. We stay up late, we play cards with fun playlists full of music that’s new to me. I sleep happily.

I miss my boys being little. I always will. But these men and their partners and our holidays together? This feels like the real reward.