Like a Jew in a Christmas light store

Last weekend, for the first time ever in my 4X years, I bought Christmas lights. That’s right. Not holiday lights. That’s not what they are. That’s some bullshit marketing term to encourage people of all denominations to buy them. I digress. 

It was all in the name of love. My 4 year old was mesmerized by all the sparkles and colors last year around this time. Everything was magical to him. I want to give that to him. Find ways for him to hold on to that wonder as long as possible. Oy vey, that’s profound. 

So off to Target I did go. And wow, I had no idea how large the wall of light options would be. I felt a bit overwhelmed but found some rainbow lights And white icicle lights. He’s thrilled. Young enough that he’s enthralled. And they were a couple of the more simple options. 

We schedule light-watching time into our nighttime routine now. Him, clean from his bath, wrapped up in our sugar skull fleece throw in the corner of the L-shaped sofa. I want him to have even the vaguest memories of traditions with overwhelming feelings of being loved. Sometimes Christmas lights are what we need.