Our husbands eagerly anticipate this event — not for the camaraderie, mind you, but for the treats they request every year. (They’ve mastered the art of casually dropping hints: “Oh, are you making that one thing again?”) This year, while rolling dough and debating which Christmas movie reigns supreme, we found ourselves reminiscing about Christmas traditions from our childhoods. And just like that, inspiration for this December edition was born.

For both of us, the memories had a common theme: piling into the family car and heading out on an adventure. For our family, Christmas Eve always kicked off with a full day of skiing, followed by some evening sledding while Dad finished grooming the slopes in preparation for the season’s busiest day, the day AFTER Christmas. You see, when your dad manages a ski resort, this is how most days are spent, but there was something about Christmas Eve that made it all feel magical. Maybe it was the way the snow sparkled just a little brighter, or maybe it was the promise of presents waiting at the end of the day.

After the slopes were tended to for the evening, we’d load into our trusty minivan — “trusty” being a generous term since it creaked and rattled like a sleigh held together with duct tape and dreams. Our mission? To marvel at the local light displays that felt straight out of a holiday postcard. A few homes had dozens of towering evergreens lining their properties; each one decked out in lights so meticulously strung that even Clark Griswold would’ve applauded. Fences twinkled, rooftops glowed, and one house even had a life-size, illuminated Santa and reindeer team that we never failed to visit. As a kid, I was mesmerized. As an adult, I marvel at how anyone found the time — and ladders — to pull it off!

My baking buddy shared her own light-filled tradition. On Christmas Eve, her grandpa would pile the grandkids into his car for a mission: Santa-spotting. With a sly smile and a twinkle in his eye, Grandpa would point to the red light on the town water tower and declare, “Look! It’s Rudolph’s nose!” Every year, the kids would arrive home breathless with excitement, only to find they’d “just missed” Santa — and somehow, the presents had magically arrived. Grandpa deserves a medal for selling that story year after year.

Submitted Photo Miranda Schuler, left, and Nicole Lundeen don aprons for the cherished annual Christmas baking weekend.

Even now, I can’t resist a good light display. The Oak Park display is a personal favorite — so much so that if they ever sell season passes, I’ll be first in line. I cruise through multiple times each season, windows down just enough to catch a whiff of crisp winter air (but not enough to freeze my fingers). Sure, the neighborhood lighting displays have gotten fancier with all their synchronized lights and music, but the joy they bring hasn’t changed a bit.

The beauty of traditions — whether it’s baking up a storm or chasing Rudolph’s glow — is that they root us in the magic of the season. And maybe, just maybe, they remind us that even the simplest joys can light up our hearts as brightly as the fanciest Christmas display.