Little stars in the big New Year's sky

The November air already smells of frost and anticipation of a miracle. Snow was falling softly outside the window, and every snowflake seemed to be a harbinger of that magical time, for which we, like experienced sailors, were preparing with special trepidation. In our small, cozy apartment, where laughter always sounded and tangerines smelled, our main New Year's Eve marathon began.

Alyona, my eldest, who was already eleven years old, was laying out diagrams in front of her with a serious face. She decided that this year the tree would not just be decorated, but would turn into a real art object. "Mom, what if we make garlands out of these transparent beads? And each one will glow with its own color, like little stars!" – she explained with burning eyes, demonstrating her plans. I looked at her, at those slender fingers, so deftly fingering the beads, and my heart was filled with such pride that I wanted to hug her and never let go. She was no longer a baby, but in her eyes there was still that childish spark of faith in a miracle that was so important to preserve.

The youngest, seven-year-old Varvara, did not lag behind either. Her area of responsibility is the gingerbread house. It was already standing, still warm and fragrant, on the table, like a promise of sweet happiness. Varya, covered in flour, with pink cheeks, was concentrating on squeezing out patterns with glaze that looked like small snowdrifts. "Mom, are we going to eat this house after Santa Claus comes?" she asked, looking into my eyes. Her question had all the spontaneity of a child and the belief that magic would surely come knocking on our door. I sat down next to her and hugged her.: "Yes, honey, we will. But first, the house must celebrate the New Year and fill our room with its wonderful fragrance."

I watched them, this well-coordinated, if a little chaotic process. Images from my childhood flashed through my mind: how my mother and I hung tinsel, how my father took out old glass balls that remembered wars and revolutions, and how the whole family later drank tea with ginger biscuits. And I understood that these moments when we are all together, when everyone is passionate about their little business, is real, priceless happiness.

Every evening, after school and kindergarten, we gathered together. We were sorting through boxes of jewelry that we had been collecting for many years. Every toy has its own story. Here is this old, slightly worn glass ball with a rabbit figurine – my grandmother brought it from her first trip to the sanatorium. And this silver angel, with one outstretched wing, was made by Alina herself when she was five, and we decided that he was special, because he was not perfect.

We hung garlands, and the room was transformed. The soft light reflected in the glass balls created a sense of comfort and celebration. Varya, leaning against the window, gasped in delight as a car drove by, illuminating the courtyard with colorful lights. Alyona, like an artist, thought over the location of each toy to create the perfect composition.

Sometimes, when the girls were engrossed in their work, I stopped and just looked at them. The way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they sometimes quarrel over small things, but then they make up. In those moments, I felt a warmth spreading inside me, so thick and pervasive that I wanted to cry from overwhelming emotions. I saw them not just as children, but as an extension of myself, my future, and my hopes. I saw how they learn to share, create, and believe in goodness.

One evening, when we were finishing with the Christmas tree, Alyona came up to me, hugged me tightly and said softly: "Mom, I love it so much when we're all together like this. It's like we're one big, happiest family in the world." And at that moment, looking at her radiant face illuminated by the soft light of the New Year's garland, I felt my heart flutter, as if the most delicate wing of an angel was touching it.

We were preparing our house for the New Year. We hung balloons, hung tinsel, and baked gingerbread. But the main thing we did was to create an atmosphere of love, trust and faith in a miracle. We, three little stars in the big New Year's sky, shone with our own special, homely light, and this light was the most precious gift we could give each other. And I knew that this light, born in our hearts, would keep us warm for many, many years.