Courtesy of Nicole Schildt
- As a mom of six, the holiday season can be a very chaotic time of year.
- Over the years, I've realized that they all enjoy visiting a specific Christmas light display.
- This simple tradition brings lasting holiday memories and eases the stress of creating perfection.
As a mom of six, Christmas used to feel like a pressure cooker. Every year, I tried to create the "perfect" holiday — the ideal gifts, the matching pajamas, the Instagram-worthy stockings. I spent December weekends navigating store aisles, scrolling for deals, or stressing that I wasn't doing enough.
By the time Christmas morning finally came, I was exhausted, financially stretched, and secretly relieved when it was all over.
But over the years, something kept happening that chipped away at all that pressure. My kids never talked about the gifts. They talked about the lights.
This simple activity brings us all joy
Every December, without fail, the one thing they count down to is our annual trip to a local Christmas light display — part drive-thru, part walk-through Santa's Village. We've been going since my oldest was little, and now that I have a wide age range — from teenagers to toddlers — it's somehow become the one tradition that still fits all of us.
Courtesy of Nicole Schildt
It's nothing extravagant. We load everyone into our van with blankets, half-finished cups of hot cocoa, and there's at least one missing glove we never find until spring. The kids pile in wearing mismatched hoodies instead of the cute outfits I once tried to coordinate. Someone is always arguing over the "best" seat. And yet the moment we pull into the entrance and the first tunnel of lights appears, the whole car shifts. The bickering fades. The glow of the lights fills the van, and even my older kids — the ones who claim they're "too old for everything" — sit up a little straighter.
We roll slowly through the display, windows cracked just enough to let in the cold air, watching the lights flicker on marching toy soldiers, snowmen, reindeer, and giant glowing trees. Then comes their favorite part: the walk-through to Santa's Village. We park, bundle everyone up, and step into the crisp night air together.
There's something magical about moving through the lights instead of just watching them through a window. You can smell the kettle corn, hear kids laughing from all directions, and feel the cold on your cheeks. My kids run ahead and then circle back, tugging on my sleeve to make sure I don't miss their favorite displays. We pause at the fires to warm our hands before grabbing snacks to enjoy throughout the rest of the night.
We end the night visiting Santa, even though the teenagers pretend they're only there to "help the little ones." We always leave with red noses, sticky fingers, and photos that look more like real life than any holiday card shoot I ever attempted.
The memories we make are lasting
One year, after an especially stressful December, I asked my kids what their favorite part of the holiday season had been. I expected them to mention a present or a party. Instead, all six talked over each other about the lights — the cold walk, the tunnel, the stop at Santa's Village. It felt like a gentle tap on the shoulder: This is what they remember.
Courtesy of Nicole Schildt
That moment changed everything for me. I realized that my kids weren't wanting perfection — I was. They weren't keeping track of how many gifts they got or whether everything matched. They just wanted a moment with all of us together, doing something simple and magical.
This tradition has helped reshape my own expectations
Now, instead of trying to cram December full of activities, I let this one tradition anchor us. We still exchange gifts and stockings, and do all of the regular holiday traditions, but I no longer feel like I'm failing if everything isn't picture-perfect. The pressure has eased because I finally understand what my kids had been telling me for years without saying a word: holiday magic doesn't come from what you buy, it comes from what you show up for.
Courtesy of Nicole Schildt
Our annual Christmas light night is chaotic, imperfect, and sometimes freezing. But it's ours. And year after year, it's the memory they carry with them — long after the gifts are forgotten.