Jay Doiron's Blog

Story

Outside, the world was wrapped in white like an unopened letter, every rooftop frosted, every tree branch trimmed with glittering snow. Inside the red-brick Whitaker house, however, the morning was already bursting with color, noise, and the smell of cinnamon.

Dawn of the Ribbon Tornado
At exactly 6:07 a.m., little Mia (age six) tiptoed into her brother Jacob’s room, her slippers silent but her excitement loud enough to rouse a hibernating bear. One minute later, the two of them were a blur down the staircase, squealing, “It’s CHRISTMAS!” Their parents—Mom still in her peppermint-striped pajamas, Dad wearing a reindeer sweater whose blinking red nose refused to stay off—followed, smiling at the annual “ribbon tornado” about to strike.

Beneath the tree, fairy-lights blinked like sleepy fireflies around a mountain of packages. With a ceremonial nod from Mom, the children pounced. Paper and bows flew through the air; the dog, Scout, dove after every discarded ribbon as though they were flying squirrels. Mia discovered a stuffed narwhal she’d circled in the toy catalog months ago, while Jacob whooped at the sight of a telescope (“I can finally see Jupiter’s moons for real!”). Even Grandma’s gingerbread tins had wrappings—because Grandma believed presentation was part of the magic.

The Snow-Globe World
After breakfast muffins, the family bundled up in coats that made them look like a clan of walking quilts. The front door opened with a snowy sigh, and suddenly the children were launched into the soft universe outside. Snowballs arced across the yard—one well-aimed puff landing on Dad’s blinking reindeer nose—while Mom rolled the base for a snowman. Jacob contributed a crooked carrot; Mia insisted the snowman needed “proper attire,” so Grandma donated an old velvet hat that once attended New Year’s Eve parties in 1963.

They named the finished fellow Sir Frostington, Knight of the Winter Realm. Sir Frostington saluted the street for the rest of the day, defending the lawn from rogue sledders.

The Hearthside Story
By late afternoon, cheeks apple-red and gloves soggy, the family retreated indoors. The house smelled like rosemary, butter, and possibility as the Christmas roast filled the oven with its savory promise. While it cooked, the Whitakers gathered by the fireplace. Dad dimmed the lamps, so only the flickering flames and the twinkle lights illuminated the room. He opened an old, blue-bound book: “The Legend of the Christmas Star.”

The story told of a humble stargazer who noticed one brilliant new light in the sky and chose to follow it, not knowing where it would lead—only trusting it would guide him toward kindness. At the end, Dad closed the book and said, “Sometimes the smallest lights show the biggest truths.” Jacob held his telescope a little tighter; Mia hugged her narwhal as if to say she understood.

Feast and Thankfulness
Dinner turned the dining room into a kingdom of aromas. Candles glowed in glass lanterns. Grandma’s cranberry sauce dazzled like rubies beside the roast; fluffy rolls steamed like little clouds caught on plates. Before anyone lifted a fork, the family joined hands. Each person named one thing he or she was thankful for:

• Mia: “That Sir Frostington didn’t melt yet.”
• Jacob: “That Jupiter’s moons are always there, even when we can’t see them.”
• Mom: “That the world still makes days like this.”
• Dad: “That we get to share them together.”
• Grandma: “That I was wise enough to bake two pies.”

Silver Screen & Silent Night
Full and drowsy, they moved to the couch fortress—blankets, cocoa, and Scout snoring at their feet. A classic black-and-white Christmas movie glowed on the television. Snowflakes outside tapped softly at the window, trying to watch too. Mia drifted off midway through, her head on Dad’s shoulder; Jacob lasted until the final scene, then surrendered to sleep, telescope cradled like a teddy bear.

Inside, the Christmas tree hummed with gentle light. One by one, its bulbs reflected the sleeping faces of the Whitaker family, each reflection a tiny reminder: that the brightest part of the season wasn’t in the gifts or the feast or even the snow, but in the shimmer of being together, wrapped in love and story and belonging.

And so the house, like the world outside, rested in peaceful silence—until 6:07 a.m. next year.

Audio

Lyric

Verse 1:
Snowflakes gently falling,
Lights aglow outside,
Laughter fills the hallway,
Warmth we cannot hide.
Candles on the table,
Stockings hanging near,
Hearts are close together,
It’s the best time of the year.

Chorus:
Gather ‘round the fire,
Stories to be told,
Cups of cocoa steaming,
Memories of old.
Hugs and smiles all around,
Love is the decoration,
Home is where we celebrate
Our cozy Christmas family celebration.

Verse 2:
Cookies in the oven,
Scent of pine and cheer,
Children’s eyes are shining,
Magic’s everywhere.
Carols softly playing,
Gifts wrapped with care,
Family all together,
Joy is in the air.

(Repeat Chorus)

Bridge:
Under twinkling lights we sing,
Grateful for the joy you bring.
From our hearts, we share this night,
Everything just feels so right.

(Repeat Chorus)

Outro:
Home is where we celebrate
Our cozy Christmas family celebration.

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