SANTA DOESN'T COME HERE ANYMORE

Last night, I stuffed the stockings while watching 𝐷𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑟 with my son and husband.
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It was cozy. Familiar. Comforting.
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And then it hit me.
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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.
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𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.
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Santa belongs to little kids.
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But with a college freshman and a high school senior, we don’t have children anymore.
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Not in the same way.
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This year, Santa didn’t bring gifts either.
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Up until last year, I’d make sure there were always a few gifts “from Santa.”
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𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝.
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The end of an era.
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We’re no longer parents of little kids. We’ve officially graduated to parents of “young adults.”
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Technically, our daughter is only 17, but she’s more mature than the rest of us combined.
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Letting go of old traditions is hard. But it got me thinking about two very special Christmases.
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The first was Christmas 1998.
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I was visiting my then-boyfriend (now husband) in Philadelphia. He’s Jewish, and growing up Catholic in a small New England town, I had no clue what Judaism really was.
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I’d never been to a Bar Mitzvah. Never thought much about it. I didn’t even realize Seinfeld was Jewish until my husband pointed it out.
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Naïve doesn’t even begin to cover it.
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I knew his family didn’t celebrate Christmas. But waking up in his family’s home that morning, I still thought something would happen.
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Surely, everyone does something on Christmas Day.
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I was wrong.
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No tree. No presents. Not even pancakes.
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Just another morning.
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I moped around, feeling gray and sorry for myself. Christmas was in my bones, and I hadn’t realized how much.
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Finally, around 10 a.m., Rob asked what was wrong.
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“You really don’t do anything for Christmas?” I asked, deflated.
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He smiled. “No, we really are Jewish.”
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Then he said, “Hey, let’s go for a ride.”
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We drove to a little shopping plaza nearby. He went inside and came out with a brown paper bag.
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It smelled amazing.
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Inside were two steaming samosas.
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“Merry Christmas,” he said.
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𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭.
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𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥.
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Fast forward nine years.
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We had two kids. Ben was two. Shayna was just a few months old.
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Ben was attending a Jewish daycare while I stayed home with Shayna.
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We’d decided to raise our kids Jewish, but we hadn’t really talked about Christmas.
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A few days before the holiday, I asked Rob, “Did your family do anything for Christmas? I know there wasn’t a tree, but were there presents or anything?”
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I explained I wanted a small tree—something to bring a little magic into the house for the kids.
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“Sure,” he said.
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Then I asked, “Did you believe in Santa growing up?”
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“Of course!” he said. “We sat on his lap at the mall every year.”
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I was floored. We hadn’t even done that in my house!
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That was it. We were going to get a small tree—a few presents. Nothing too much—I can’t stand clutter.
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That morning, I loaded Ben into the car to drive to daycare.
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I decided to tell him about Santa.
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As we drove, I launched into the story.
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“Benny, do you know who Santa is?”
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“No.”
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“Well,” I began, “he’s a man who lives in the North Pole. On Christmas Eve, he flies around the world delivering gifts to children. He has a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer.”
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I paused. This story sounded insane.
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But I kept going.
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“He lands on the roof, goes down the chimney, and leaves presents for you and Shayna.”
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Ben interrupted, “A man is coming into our house?”
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“Um, yes,” I said, realizing how creepy this all sounded.
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“And deer are going to be on our roof?”
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“Yes.”
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He nodded, taking it all in. Then: “And I’m getting presents?”
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“Yes.”
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I dropped him off, wondering what on earth he’d tell his friends that day.
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I sat in the car cracking up.
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This story is nuts.
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𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞.
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This year, the house is quieter. No more toys to trip over. No more clutter.
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But there’s also more calm.
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More one-on-one time with each child. Watching them navigate adulthood—voting, dating, making decisions that matter.
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I’m excited for this next chapter.
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More travel. More time with my husband. More room for my business and hobbies.
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𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.
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𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.
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𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬.
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I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of your own “firsts” and “lasts” as so many of us navigate transitions—whether it’s empty nesting, caring for parents, or balancing it all with our kiddos.

And finally, happy holidays to each of you!

Thank you for giving me reasons to reflect and write.
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As you know, I view health holistically. It’s more than just physical—it’s mental and emotional too.
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At Mountain View Wellness, our mission is to help you embrace this full spectrum of health and wellness.

Thank you for being such an integral part of making 2024 so transformational for us. Here’s to an amazing 2025 ahead!

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Warmly,
Coach Julie
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