# Not Till 7 A.M. **By Autumn Moon** · 2026-11-05 Christmas Traditions • The Moon Ledger The Christmas traditions I grew up with, the memories that stayed with me, and the ones my own children will remember. Christmas was always full of excitement when I was growing up, and honestly, it started long before December. I can still remember when the Christmas catalogs arrived in the mail. Best, JCPenney, and Sears. Those catalogs were practically three inches thick, and my younger sister Natalie and I would spend hours going through them, putting our initials next to everything we wanted. And I mean everything. Every. Single. Thing. That was how we made our Christmas lists. There was no scrolling through websites or adding things to an online cart. Just the two of us, those enormous catalogs, and pages upon pages of things we were absolutely convinced we needed. And then there were the years when a particular toy became the one thing every child wanted, and every parent was desperately trying to find. I remember when Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage. My mother actually waited outside what I believe was Kiddie City, practically overnight, just to make sure she could get them for us. Now, she wasn't literally sleeping on the sidewalk, but she was out there, waiting in line with all the other determined parents. And back then, that's what people did. There was no clicking a button and having something delivered to your doorstep. If you wanted that impossible-to-find Christmas gift, sometimes you had to go out and wait for it. And my mother was notorious for this sort of thing. She did it for concert tickets, too, but that's a story for another time. The point is, she made the effort. She wanted to make Christmas special for us, and she did. Years later, when I had my own daughters, I found myself doing my own version of the very same thing. No, I wasn't waiting outside a toy store overnight, but I certainly did my share of searching, tracking things down, and figuring out how to get my hands on whatever gift was at the very top of their Christmas lists. I suppose that's something you don't fully appreciate until you're the parent. As children, we only saw the magic of Christmas morning. We didn't see all the work, the planning, the late nights, or the lengths our parents went to behind the scenes to make it happen. And then one day, you become the one creating the magic. We always celebrated Christmas at our house. My mother was the oldest of four children, so everyone came to us. The house was full of family, and there was always so much going on in the days leading up to Christmas. And of course, there was decorating the Christmas tree. My dad was in charge of the lights. We had those wonderful old-fashioned Italian bubble lights, the ones with the little glass tubes that would warm up and begin bubbling. And at the very top of the tree was our blinking Santa tree topper. Once Dad finished the lights, my mother took over with the garland and beads. Then it was our turn. My sisters and I decorated the tree, hanging the ornaments until everything was just right. I can still picture those bubble lights glowing on the branches, Santa blinking away at the top, and all of us having our own part in decorating the tree. It was one of those little Christmas rituals that made the season feel so special. We had our Christmas pajamas, of course, but we also had a special Christmas dress. It wasn't something we wore whenever we felt like it. We might wear it to visit Santa, but otherwise, that dress was saved for Christmas Eve Mass and Christmas Day. Even though we were celebrating at home, we were dressed up. It was festive. It was special. And I think that was part of what made Christmas feel so different from every other day of the year. It's one of the traditions I carried on with my own daughters. A special [Christmas dress](/collections/holiday-dresses) for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and [Christmas pajamas](/collections/christmas-pajamas) for Christmas morning. There was something about saving those little things for the holiday itself that made them feel all the more special. [![Holiday dress for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0769/8241/9739/files/FullSizeRender_c6ae3c95-e379-41ea-a51b-711c5b08e075.jpg?v=1785706766)](/collections/holiday-dresses) For Christmas Eve and Christmas Day: [Our Holiday Dresses](/collections/holiday-dresses) [![Children's Christmas pajamas](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0769/8241/9739/files/E49BAA59-65A8-4464-AFDA-887A32AA59FF.jpg?v=1785705973)](/collections/christmas-pajamas) For Christmas morning: [Our Christmas Pajamas](/collections/christmas-pajamas) And then there was Christmas morning. Not till 7 a.m. I can remember waking up at four in the morning, so excited I could hardly stand it, only to hear my parents telling us we weren't allowed downstairs until seven. Of course, they had probably been up until the wee hours of the morning wrapping presents and getting everything ready. As a child, you don't think about any of that. All you know is that Santa has come, the presents are downstairs, and seven o'clock feels like an eternity away. But my parents had their own little way of keeping us occupied. Every Christmas morning, we would wake up to find our stockings lying right on our beds. We were told that Santa had come into our bedrooms during the night and left them there while we slept. And somehow, we never saw him. That was part of the magic. The thought that Santa had actually been in our rooms, right beside our beds, and we had slept through the whole thing. Inside were little wrapped presents, Chapstick, candy, and the absolute must-have every Christmas morning: a big, fresh bag of pistachio nuts from the shop in Philadelphia. I don't know what it was about those pistachios, but they were part of Christmas. It's funny how something so simple can stay with you all these years. And yes, I carried that tradition on with my own daughters, too. Only then did I discover what my parents had been doing all those years. Trying to sneak into a child's bedroom in the middle of the night, quietly lay a stocking on the bed without waking anyone, and disappear before they opened their eyes. Let me tell you, that was stressful. Suddenly, I had a whole new appreciation for my parents. And I loved knowing that my girls were experiencing that same little bit of Christmas magic. And then, finally, it was seven o'clock. I can still picture coming down the stairs on Christmas morning and seeing the living room filled with presents. My parents always seemed to use a wonderful variety of wrapping papers, and each of us had our own pile. But it wasn't just the presents themselves. It was the way everything was arranged. The different patterns and colors, the packages carefully layered and displayed, the sheer amount of it all. Somehow, the way my parents arranged those gifts made the living room look enormous. It was like walking into a Christmas wonderland. And of course, my dad was there with the video camera. He filmed us coming down the stairs and narrated the entire morning. At the time, I'm sure we were far more interested in getting to those presents than whatever Dad was saying behind the camera. But those videos? They're priceless now. They hold our Christmas mornings, our childhood home, our parents' voices, and all those little moments we might otherwise have forgotten. They're so much more than home movies. They're where so many of our memories live. And yes, this was another tradition I carried on with my own daughters, although I put my own little spin on it. Each of my girls had her own selection of wrapping papers. Not just one pattern, but a variety chosen especially for her. Their piles were immediately recognizable, and I loved that. There was something about knowing those beautifully wrapped gifts belonged to one child and were chosen just for her. And arranging those presents? Well, that became an art form of its own. The layering, the different patterns, the ribbons and bows. I loved creating that beautiful Christmas morning display. Everything had its place, and I wanted that first glimpse of the presents to feel just as magical for my girls as it had for me. Because there really is something about coming downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing all those packages waiting beneath the tree. The wrapping paper, the ribbons, the anticipation. Just magic. And then there was Christmas breakfast. Not just any breakfast. Fried ham. And I do mean fried. Jewish rye bread, eggs, and potatoes. That was Christmas morning breakfast in our house, and to this day, it still is. It's funny how particular we become about the things we grew up with. You can change the decorations, the wrapping paper, even the Christmas tree, but some things are simply not up for discussion. Christmas morning means fried ham. And I wouldn't have it any other way. There were so many traditions like that. Little things that might not have seemed terribly important at the time but somehow became the things I remember most. And then there are the smells that stay with you. For me, it's bay leaves. I distinctly remember the smell of bay leaves from our Christmas ham, along with the scent of the holiday bayberry candle. Those two things will forever remind me of Christmas. It's funny how scent can bring back a memory so vividly. I can smell bay leaves at any time of the year, and instantly, I'm right back at Christmas in our childhood home. And the Christmas music. Oh, the Christmas music. Today, we have entire Christmas channels devoted to every possible genre. Traditional Christmas music, jazz, classical, country, and just about anything else you can imagine. But growing up, we had our Christmas tape in the car. And when I say that was our Christmas music, I mean that was all we listened to in the car throughout the entire Christmas season. The same tape, over and over, wherever we went. And somehow, we never tired of it. Then there was the record player in our living room, and one Christmas album in particular that I will never forget: _The First Christmas Record for Children_, from 1968. It featured so many wonderful voices from that era, including Doris Day, Gene Autry, Rosemary Clooney, Jimmy Boyd, Captain Kangaroo, Mitch Miller, Ray Heatherton, and Arthur Godfrey. To this day, I can still recite "The Littlest Christmas Tree" by Gene Autry and "The Littlest Snowman" by Captain Kangaroo. And yes, I realize I'm showing my age here. But there was just nothing quite like that album. The voices, the stories, the music. I can still remember listening to it on the stereo in our living room, and nothing I've heard since has ever felt quite the same. I actually found a copy on eBay recently, and of course, I had to buy it. How could I not? There's something about finding a piece of your childhood again. All those years later, that familiar album can still take me right back to Christmas in our family living room. Then there were the Christmas movies, especially _A Year Without a Santa Claus_, which is still my favorite. And Santa coming down our street on the fire truck on Christmas Eve. My parents also made a tradition of taking us out to see the Christmas lights. We would drive around looking at all the houses decorated for the season. Some of them were so elaborate, with walk-through displays, drive-through decorations, and more lights than you could possibly imagine. I loved all of it. And when I had children of my own, I wanted them to experience that same excitement. Not necessarily the exact same Christmas, but that feeling of anticipation, of having certain things to look forward to year after year. One of the traditions that became especially meaningful for my daughters was going to see _The Nutcracker_. My mother, Mom Mom to the girls, would take my two daughters and my niece to see the ballet. It was something they shared with her, something that belonged to them, and I know those are memories they'll always carry. I think that's why _The Nutcracker_ has always held such a special place in my heart. It's more than a Christmas story or a beautiful ballet. It reminds me of my mother and my girls, and of how traditions find their way from one generation to the next. It's also why I love the little Nutcracker decorations, dolls, and advent calendars that come out each Christmas. They bring back those memories, and I imagine other families making their own along the way. [![Meri Meri New York City Ballet Nutcracker Advent Calendar](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0769/8241/9739/files/meri-meri-x-new-york-city-ballet-advent-calendar-3_1d269f14-f3f6-4bda-bf01-632d6a04fbbc.jpg?v=1789393484)](/products/meri-meri-new-york-city-ballet-nutcracker-advent-calendar) A little Christmas magic: [Meri Meri x New York City Ballet Nutcracker Advent Calendar](/products/meri-meri-new-york-city-ballet-nutcracker-advent-calendar) When I had children of my own, I started a few Christmas tree traditions of my own. We always had two trees. The first was the big tree in the front window. My mother always called it my "Macy's tree," because Macy's was known for those beautifully decorated, elaborate Christmas trees in their stores. And that's exactly the look I was going for. Unlike the tree I grew up with, there wasn't a colored light in sight. Everything was carefully coordinated. White lights, a particular color scheme, ornaments chosen to match, and an elaborate bow at the very top. I wanted that tree to look like it belonged on the cover of a Christmas magazine. And then there was the kids' tree in the family room. That was an entirely different story. Colored lights, Hallmark ornaments, decorations they had made in school, and whatever else they wanted to hang on it. It even had a Barbie tree topper. There were no rules, no color schemes, and certainly no concern about whether everything matched. It was their tree, and they could decorate it however they pleased. Now, I'll be honest about something. For someone who put so much effort into Christmas decorating, decorating the tree eventually became my least favorite part of the entire holiday. I simply could not leave well enough alone. A perfectly nice Christmas tree was never enough. No, it needed to look like something straight out of an editorial magazine spread. Which, as you might imagine, involved an enormous amount of work. I did the lights, the ribbons, the bows, and all the elaborate decorating. The girls helped hang the ornaments, but I was the one determined to get everything just right. And naturally, the tree was always enormous. So enormous, in fact, that getting a ladder close enough to reach the top was practically impossible. There I would be, stretching across branches, trying to reach that one spot that absolutely needed another ornament or a little more ribbon. And yes, I fell into the Christmas tree. More than once. There was usually a fair amount of cursing involved, too. Not exactly the peaceful, picture-perfect Christmas scene I had envisioned. But here's the funny thing. Every year, when my daughters start talking about Christmas, those are the stories they bring up. "Remember when Mom fell into the Christmas tree?" Or, "Here she goes, cursing at the tree again." Apparently, it wouldn't have been Christmas without it. All those years I spent trying to create the perfect Christmas tree, and what my girls remember most is their mother practically disappearing into the branches, probably muttering a few words that weren't particularly festive. And you know what? I love that. Because somewhere along the way, I've come to realize that traditions and memories don't have to be perfect. Sometimes the things that go wrong become the stories everyone looks forward to telling. My parents had their Italian bubble lights and blinking Santa tree topper. I had my elaborate Macy's tree, the girls had their colorful family-room tree, and somehow, falling into the branches became a Christmas tradition of its own. We take pieces of the Christmases we grew up with, carry some of them forward, change others, and create entirely new ones without even realizing it. And eventually, our children decide which ones they'll remember, which ones they'll continue, and which ones they'll make their own. Sometimes it's the beautiful things we planned. And sometimes it's Mom falling into the Christmas tree. Either way, those are the memories that belong to us. Looking back, what strikes me most is that the things I remember aren't necessarily the presents we received. I remember the catalogs spread out in front of us, the Italian bubble lights on the Christmas tree, the blinking Santa at the top, the Christmas dresses saved for just two special days, and the stockings Santa mysteriously left on our beds while we slept. I remember waiting for seven o'clock, the smell of bay leaves from the Christmas ham, the Christmas music, the movies we watched every year, and the excitement of seeing Santa on the fire truck. I remember my dad behind the video camera, narrating Christmas morning while we came down the stairs. And that Christmas breakfast that, to this day, still has to include fried ham. Traditions seem to get lost so easily these days. Life moves quickly, and there's always something else demanding our attention. But when I think about my childhood Christmases, it's the preparation, the anticipation, and all those little rituals that come rushing back. And those are the things I wanted to give my own children. Not just a beautiful Christmas morning, but the memories leading up to it. The things they would look forward to, the things they would remember, and maybe even the things they would one day carry on with their own families. Because when I think about Christmas all those years ago, I don't remember how much anything cost or how many presents were under the tree. I remember the feeling. And I remember being a little girl, wide awake at four in the morning, with a stocking lying on my bed, waiting for seven o'clock. That was Christmas. And it was pure magic. — Jennifer, Founder of Autumn Moon For the little traditions that become the memories we carry forever. [Explore The Christmas Collection](/collections/christmas-collection) --- > Source: [Autumn Moon Kids Clothing](https://autumnmoonkidsclothing.com/blogs/news/not-till-7-a-m)