Nineteen years ago, my very pregnant mother sat by the illuminated evergreen tree as my sister stared wide-eyed at the shiny gifts wrapped beneath the branches, awaiting a cup of hot chocolate being brewed by my dad in the kitchen. Stockings hung over the crackling fireplace where cookies and eggnog were excitedly laid out hours before. It was a Christmas Eve just like any other, except this year, Santa wouldn't be the only one to make an arrival. 

Fast forward a few hours and my mom is laying in a hospital bed, coddling an adorable little Christmas miracle. The doctor checked his watch after a remarkably quick delivery and proceeded to shake my mom's hand uttering, "Easiest grand I've ever made, congratulations and Merry Christmas." On that very evening, my parents were gifted with the best Christmas gift they could have ever asked for. 

When I tell people my birthday is December 24th, I always get an array of questions and assumptions. "Do you not get birthday presents?" "I would hate having my birthday on Christmas Eve." To be honest, if I didn't have the mom I do, I probably would hate having my birthday on Christmas Eve. Everyone's in their holi-daze and not thinking about a birthday other than, well, Jesus' of course. Luckily, I have superwoman for a mom who goes to the ends of the earth to make sure my birthday is all about my birthday.

Her determination to make sure my birthday wouldn't get overshadowed began when I was about seven years old. She and my uncle came up with a plan to incorporate both the celebration of my birthday and Christmas. One frosty evening, just a few weeks into December, my mom came up to my room notifying me that I had a phone call. Confused and naive, I picked up the phone to hear what would become the tiny, jolly icon of my childhood. The high pitched, nasally voice on the other end of the line claimed he was calling from a land way up north. My face froze as he told me about himself — an elf who served as Santa's top assistant. His name was Elwood. He went on to say that he was notified years ago that a little baby girl had been born the night before Christmas. "You know, all Christmas Eve babies are given personal elves to watch over them," he told me. "And Santa has assigned me to you." Hands shaking with butterflies in my stomach, I was left speechless as my mom took the phone and thanked Elwood. She began to listen to my large assortment of curious questions, all answered assuringly with a smile.  

Of course, I couldn't wait to tell my whole class the next day at school about the strange occurrence the night before. As time went on, kids matured and realized my "elf" was merely an act by a human, not a little man in a green jumpsuit. But I was strongly convinced they were wrong. 

I have only a little shame in admitting this whole charade went on all the way into my seventh grade year. I was devastated when I saw my mom's cell phone light up with "ELWOOD" on the screen. Not knowing I had seen her phone ring, she picked up the call and talked casually with my Uncle John. My throat sank into my stomach and I began to cry, realizing it was all fake. 

Although my heart was shattered after realizing I didn't actually have a personal elf and that all the kids in grade school who had made fun of me were right, I couldn't be more thankful now for that little voice I anticipated every year. He turned a birth date that could have easily been overlooked to a birth date all my friends wished they'd had. 

Since the days of Elwood have ended, my mom still gives a noteworthy effort to make my birthday special. My presents are always wrapped in birthday paper and it's never "Christmas Eve" at my house; it's simply Madison's birthday. Without her, I probably wouldn't like having my birthday on the 24th at all. But because of her, this truly is the most wonderful time of the year.