The Pressure to Make Christmas Magical : and My Brief Obsession With a Snow Machine

Avoiding “The Big Question”

I’m still avoiding the moment when the boys look at me and casually confirm they no longer believe. I’m not ready. Because once that moment goes, something shifts not just for them, but for me too.

So I like to throw myself into the traditions. Christmas Eve especially.
A meal out, seeing family… this year I’ve booked the panto. Is it really Christmas if you don’t see a man in a wig shout “HE’S BEHIND YOU!” while children scream like they’ve been waiting all year to do exactly that.

It’s loud, it’s silly, and honestly… It’s one of my favourite parts.

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The Christmas I Imagine… and the One I Get

Here’s where things always get interesting: in my head, Christmas should look like the films.
Snow falling, cosy fireplaces,  a huge house and a long-lost rich aunt who invites everyone over for three days of festive bliss.

Meanwhile, in reality, I open the curtains, and the patio is just… wet. Every single year.
Not a snowflake in sight.  Or worse it’s like a spring morning with blue skies and sun shining. 

And yes I have genuinely looked at snow machines. Proper ones.
Do I need one? Not remotely.
Do I have space for one? Absolutely not.
Did any of that stop me from browsing like I was planning my own Winter Wonderland? Of course not.

Why? Because snow feels like the missing piece that instantly makes Christmas feel magical without any effort at all.

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And then came Covid Christmas…

The irony is that the most magical Christmas we ever had was during Covid. No expectations, no rushing, no running around trying to make the day “special.” No timetable,  no pressure to be anywhere or see anyone.

It was just us,  zero rules, zero fuss. Relaxed, simple, and totally ours.

We even had two Christmases because we could. And do you know what? It was magical not because it was perfect, but because it was peaceful.

It made me realise how much pressure around Christmas is something we create ourselves. Trying to make it feel a certain way. Trying to match an invisible standard of festive perfection. Trying to recreate a childhood feeling that used to arrive all on its own. And in doing that, we forget the simple bits, the bits that actually matter.

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The Pressure for the Day to Feel “Different”

As adults, we put so much pressure on Christmas Day to feel special, more exciting, more magical, more something.

And when it doesn’t? We think we’ve somehow fallen short. So we do more, spend more, plan more,  fill the diary, add traditions, outings, extra everything.   I’m as guilty as the next person for doing this.  

But when I think about the Christmases the boys will remember most, it won’t be the ones where I exhausted myself trying to recreate the perfect festive scene. It’ll be the silly ones. The relaxed ones, the unplanned ones, the ones where we were laughing and together and not trying so hard.

Even Covid Christmas, the year everything felt upside down, will probably be one of the stories they tell when they’re older. And the irony? It didn’t cost a thing.

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Maybe the Magic Is Simpler than We Think

So maybe this year, instead of trying to force Christmas to be magical, I’ll just let it be what it is: Messy, noisy, a bit chaotic, probably damp instead of snowy.

The boys don’t need a perfect Christmas, they just need a happy one. One where I’m not rushing around chasing an impossible standard or trying to produce a film-worthy day.

Will I still casually Google snow machines? Probably. I know myself too well. But I’m learning that the magic isn’t in the snow, the schedule, or the perfect moment.

It’s in their laughter, in the small memories, in the feeling of being together even as time moves on faster than I’d like.

So whatever you end up doing this Christmas, make it one worth remembering. We can buy all the gifts, wrap all the things, and plan every detail… but the real magic is the memories we create. And no, that’s not my house, unless I suddenly inherited my fictional aunt’s suspiciously nice real estate!