Willow Grace

Once upon a time, in a house full of mismatched socks, shared hairbrushes, and arguments over who stole whose sweater, there lived two sisters — Willow and Kate.

Willow was older by 2 years and professed more imaginary moral high grounds than you can count through our childhood. I was the “spirited” one, known for painting the dog blue “in the name of art” and blaming it on “an abstract phase.” Growing up, we were the perfect balance: Willow with her careful plans, and me with spontaneous chaos — like a walking, giggling hurricane wrapped in glitter.

We bickered over everything from bathroom time to microwave etiquette, but we also built blanket forts that could rival small cities, rescued abandoned kittens, and swore that no matter what—we’d spend every Christmas together, no excuses.

Our childhood was one long string of shared secrets, scraped knees, and sibling sabotage. Once, I convinced Willow to sneak out of the house to meet “Santa” in the neighbor’s yard — only to discover it was just a lawn ornament and a possum.

Despite all this (or perhaps because of it), we were inseparable.

Over the years, life threw us the usual curveballs. Careers took off — I became a children’s book illustrator who hid Willow’s name in every book; Willow became a lawyer who always called me when she couldn’t remember the password to her own Wi-Fi. There were marriages, moves, tears, triumphs, and one very unfortunate haircut decision during the “bangs revival of 2006.”

But no matter what happened, one thing never changed: Christmas was sacred. Every December, no matter what corner of the world we were in, we would meet up for Christmas – sometimes to the house where it all began, other times at each other’s homes and other times a family gathering to rival the Von Trapps. 

And oh, the Christmas traditions.

There was the annual “Tinsel Tangle,” a competition to see who could decorate the tree without uttering a single cuss word (no one’s ever won). There was the viewing of White Christmas that turned into quoting every line until someone was told to “shut up so Bing can sing.” 

Now, with a few more laugh lines and gray hairs (which we color together while sipping eggnog and making fun of each other), our bond is stronger than ever. We’ve weathered life’s ups and downs like champs — with sarcasm, grace, and an unshakable love stitched together through years of shared history.

And every Christmas, as the turkey sizzles, the music plays, and the laughter echoes, one thing is certain: there’s no snowstorm, no distance, and no forgotten password that could keep us apart.

Because when you’re lucky enough to have a sister who knows you — all of you — and still wants to spend Christmas with you every year?

Well, that’s the best kind of holiday magic there is.