The Christmas Reminder That Helps Us Keep Our Priorities Straight

Every year around mid-December, the noise gets loud: sales, expectations, comparisons, invitations. It’s really easy to lose the plot and end up spending time and money on things that don’t match what we say matters to us. You can be running from event to event, house decorated to the nines, gifts wrapped early—and still feel like you missed the point.

We’ve had seasons like that, where everything looked right but we ended December tired, snappy, and not all that proud of how we handled it. So we started using one simple question to pull us back on track when things start to spin.

“What do we want our kids to remember?”

When we’re torn on something—another event, more gifts, a big purchase—we ask, “What do we want our kids to remember about Christmas in this house?”

The answers are usually things like:

• Feeling loved and safe
• Laughing together
• Slower mornings
• Traditions that point to faith and gratitude

Almost none of that depends on how many presents are under the tree or how many events we checked off. Those memories come from the way the house feels: the pace, the tone, the way we talk to each other when we’re tired, and how we respond when plans change.

Asking that question doesn’t magically solve every decision, but it gives us a filter. If I’m standing in a store wondering if I need one more “wow” gift, thinking about that question steadies me. My kids are going to remember if I was present, patient, and kind a lot more than they’re going to remember an extra toy from the seasonal aisle.

Letting that question guide our yes and no

When a new opportunity pops up—one more Christmas outing, another gift exchange, a “limited time” deal—we run it through that same lens. Does this help create the kind of Christmas we say we want, or does it mostly feed stress and comparison?

If something clearly supports those priorities—like a simple family night at home, church services that matter to us, or an outing everyone genuinely loves—we lean in. We’re more willing to rearrange or spend a little there, because it lines up with our bigger goal.

If it mainly feeds the urge to keep up with other families, post something online, or quiet guilt we’re feeling, we give ourselves permission to say no. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing; it just might not be right for this year in this house.

It doesn’t make decisions effortless. There are still moments where saying no feels awkward or disappointing. But it keeps us from drifting into a Christmas that looks good in photos and feels empty when we crawl into bed on December 25 wondering what just happened.

Remembering we can’t do everything

One thing we say to ourselves a lot is: we can’t do it all, but we can do what matters most here, with these people. That sentence takes some of the weight off. It reminds us that every yes has a cost—time, money, energy—and we get to choose what is worth spending those on.

Sometimes that looks like skipping a big, flashy event so we can afford a quieter Christmas Day at home. Sometimes it means saying no to extra decor or gift swaps so we can travel to see family without panicking about the card bill later. Sometimes it just means choosing one tradition to do really well instead of half-doing five different ones.

When we remember that we’re allowed to be human and limited, the budget, the calendar, and the house all get a little easier to manage. We aren’t chasing some imaginary “perfect December” anymore. We’re building something that actually fits our real life and the people living in it.

Keeping money in its right place

This reminder also helps us tame the money side of Christmas. It doesn’t matter how good our budget looks if every holiday decision is driven by guilt, pressure, or fear of disappointing people. Asking what we want our kids to remember puts money back in its place—as a tool, not the main thing.

When I’m tempted to throw more spending at a problem—one more gift to make up for a long week, one more store run to feel “caught up”—I try to stop and ask, “Is this actually going to make the season better, or am I just trying to fix my stress with a purchase?” That pause has stopped more than a few impulse buys.

It also softens the sting of saying, “We can’t afford that this year,” because it’s not just about the cost. It’s about guarding the kind of Christmas we’re trying to build. That feels a lot less like deprivation and more like protecting something important.

Giving ourselves permission to make it simpler

That question—what we want our kids to remember—has also given us permission to simplify without feeling like we’ve failed. We’ve let go of traditions that nobody really loved, cut back on decorations, and stopped trying to cram every single December weekend full.

When I feel the itch to add more—more gifts, more outings, more projects—I try to think about how it will feel in the moment. Are we going to be relaxed and happy doing this, or will we be rushing, snapping at each other, and collapsing afterward? If I already know we’ll be running on fumes, that’s my cue to let it go.

Most of the time, the kids don’t even notice what we cut. They’re too busy enjoying the pieces we kept: the movie night, the cookies, the slow morning, the story we read together. That’s my reminder that simple doesn’t mean less special. It often means more room to breathe.

The kind of Christmas I actually want

At the end of the day, I care less about pulling off some perfect version of Christmas and more about how it feels in our house. I want our kids to remember warmth, patience, and laughter more than a blur of events and boxes. I want my own memories from this season to feel calm and grounded instead of panicked and foggy.

That’s what this little reminder does for us. It doesn’t fix everything, but it brings us back when we start drifting toward someone else’s idea of a “good” Christmas. And honestly, that’s the kind of Christmas I want far more than any perfectly wrapped gift stacked under the tree.