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This time of year, bloggers like me,  bloggers that are mildly hard-core about blogging…come across blog posts about hating the season. Posts about the commercialism of the holidays. Posts about the trauma belief in Santa causes in little kids. Posts that attempt to discount all of the beautiful miracles that come with the season.

The miracles my mom just talked to you about.

Today, I mean to tell you why my mom is right and those others are wrong.

First of all, even though this has nothing to do anything in this post, my mom talked to Kate on the radio this week. And I literally missed it by a split second.I listen to that radio station every morning. And Zach just as Zach turned it on, I get a text from my mom saying, “I was just on air on Mike and Kate, did you hear me?”

How cool is that? I was on air once, but only with Matt Steele, but I did win something. I’ve still never talked to Mike and Kate…my mom is so much cooler than I am.

My mom came to school with me on Friday to help me with my parent Christmas gifts the kids were making. She traced and cut circles. She helped the kids. She helps me before school starts every year for one day. She brings treats on my birthday just like old times. She comes at Christmas. She usually comes at the end of the year. She makes it into my work a lot. She gives me a ton of support. I introduced her to one of my colleagues yesterday and my colleague said, “I met her. She was here another time helping out. You spoiled little baby. Boy does your mom spoil you.” To which my mother replied, “That’s okay.”

My mom was late to help in class, though. I called her and when she answered all of my students yelled, “Where are you?!”

And then when she showed up, I had one student give her a tardy slip.

I thought it was so funny.

Until I realized why she was late.

I came home from work last night. We were planning on getting a tree and decorating. We had friends in town we were seeing. I needed to clean my house for our Christmas party.

I pulled up and saw that my lamp on my end table was on. I thought that was odd,I hadn’t left it on when I left in the morning. But I could have just been in a hurry. Immediately upon walking in the door I knew why it was on, mom had cleaned my house for me.

My floors were clean, it smelled of pine sol and disinfectant (which are smells I happen to love), laundry was done and put away, my counters were cleaned off, everything looked picture perfect. The cleanest my house has looked since we moved in. I can clean, but my mom can clean.  She truly has a talent for it.

She doesn’t have time for it, though. My mom has the fullest plate of anyone I know and that is a fact. My husband, best friend, aunt, and dad can all back that up. She works full-time. She keeps her household. She has a busy church calling. She takes care of my grandpa: takes him to doctor appointments, shops for him, cleans his house, runs him around, etc. She literally doesn’t have one day to rest. She really doesn’t. Yet, she took time off work and used it to clean my house (which I do have time to do) and help out in my classroom.

I called her in tears, guilt-ridden and grateful.

She said it was part of my Christmas gift. Done and done! Thank you, mom.

So I say this: If my mom says you should believe. You should listen.

If my mom says Christmas is a time for miracles. It is.

My mom grew up in a Santa-believing home. She sure turned out okay. Better than anyone I know.

Thanks mom! First of all, for raising me to believe. Second of all, for still being an example of the believers…in all things.

Oh, and just for fun here’s a link to the story my mom wrote about on Friday. Pretty good stuff!

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