On the First Day of Christmas...

And so, Christmas is over. And with it comes the same sense of loss that I've felt every Boxing Day since I can remember.

Christmas is over. Presents are done, feast is finished, and all that remains of the season is a tree in my living room that's more fire hazard than festivity. I need to tidy the house and make way for the coming year.

But I still feel sad.

At first, I think about what I could have done to make the Christmas Spirit last longer. Maybe if I had gotten that one extra gift, the merriness would have stuck around through today. Maybe if I had saved a slice of pie instead of eating it all with my family. Maybe if I had done one of a zillion things differently that I do every Christmas day, this year would have been different.

But that's not how it works. The idea behind a tradition is that you do some activity or another the same every year, to the same result. I wouldn't trade a single slice of pie or a single gift beneath the tree for the happy faces I see on Christmas with my family. And what I ask for - this extension of Christmas - wouldn't extend their happiness.

So as I sit here, brimming with leftover cheer that would otherwise be wasted, I find myself grateful that my sister, my mother and I have decided upon a new tradition this year:

We will be indulging in the Twelve Days of Christmas.

Specifically, we exchanged stockings and some gifts on Christmas day. We had food, we had merriment and we had naps while the dogs played (and played... and played... One of my gifts was a quiet evening at home while the Young Master snored on my foot. It was adorable.) and it was lovely. But it was over too soon, as it always is.

And so this year, on Twelfth Night, there will be more gifts. There will be more feast. And there will be more spirit.

Because sometimes more is more.