The Holidays, Literacy, and the Permission We All Need
First things first—do not feel bad if you haven’t read with your kids over the holidays.
Seriously. Don’t.
Don’t feel bad if books sat untouched while toys exploded across the living room.
Don’t feel bad if your children have survived mainly on cheese, chocolate, and whatever snack was closest since the 19th.
Don’t feel bad if bedtime routines disappeared and everyone forgot what day it was.
Bears hibernate.
Apparently, humans do too—just with more glitter, sugar, and emotional whiplash.
The holidays are loud. They’re overstimulating. They’re expensive, emotionally loaded, schedule-breaking, and somehow still expected to be magical. We pile memory-making on top of exhaustion and then wonder why everyone is on edge. Somewhere along the line, we decided rest had to be earned, and joy had to be productive.
That includes literacy.
And I want to gently—but firmly—push back on that.
Let’s Start With the Honest Questions
Have you enjoyed your kids over the holidays?
It’s okay if the answer is not always.
It’s okay if the answer is yes, deeply.
It’s okay if the answer is they were at daycare, and that saved my sanity.
You can love your children fiercely and still need space. You can cherish moments and still count down until routine returns. None of that makes you a bad parent—it makes you human.
Now let’s talk about reading.
Parents:
Did you read at all?
Did you buy a new book and feel excited… or feel guilty immediately?
Did you lose yourself in a story for a few minutes and feel like yourself again?
Did you avoid reading because it felt like one more thing you were failing at?
Did you read in tiny pieces—before bed, in the car, while hiding in the bathroom?
Are you a young parent trying to figure out where “time alone” even exists anymore?
There is no wrong answer here.
What Literacy Isn’t
Literacy is not:
A performance
A holiday checklist item
Proof that you’re doing parenting “right.”
Something that has to look calm, cozy, or Instagram-worthy
Something that requires silence, perfect attention, or matching pajamas
And you do not need to read in front of your child for it to matter.
Let me say that again:
You do not have to read in front of your child.
Your child benefits from knowing that reading exists in their world—not from watching you force it when you’re depleted.
What Literacy Actually Looks Like During the Holidays
Fundamental literacy during this time of year is messy, casual, and woven into life.
It looks like:
Letting your child help cook and reading the recipe together
Asking them to find the correct box and read the directions for a new game
Wrapping gifts and reading names, labels, and tags
Sorting decorations and talking about colors, shapes, memories, and stories
Writing grocery lists, thank-you notes, or reminders
Cleaning up together and narrating what you’re doing
Playing a board game and reading the rules out loud—even imperfectly
Language is being used for a purpose.
It looks like inclusion.
Presence Over Perfection
If there’s one thing I wish parents would let go of, it’s the idea that literacy has to be formal to be valuable.
You don’t need a designated reading corner.
You don’t need a holiday book countdown.
You don’t need to “make up” for anything.
What matters is presence.
Invite your kids into your world:
Let them help
Let them talk
Let them ask questions.
Let them be part of the doing, not just the watching.
That’s where language grows.
That’s where comprehension lives.
That’s where connection happens.
For the Parents Carrying Guilt
If reading has felt heavy—if it’s wrapped up in guilt, pressure, or the feeling that you’re behind—please hear this:
Avoiding reading because of guilt does not make you anti-literacy.
It means you’re overwhelmed.
Reading in moderation counts.
Reading silently counts.
Reading sporadically counts.
Living your life and letting language exist naturally counts.
There is no single right way to raise a reader.
And the holidays? They are not the test.
A Gentle Reframe
Instead of asking:
“Did we read enough?”
Try asking:
“Were we connected at all?”
Instead of:
“What should this have looked like?”
Try:
“What did my child get to be part of?”
Because your kids don’t need you at your most curated.
They need you at your most real.
Tired. Laughing. Snapping sometimes. Apologizing. Showing up again.
They’re Your Present
In the middle of the chaos, the undone plans, the sugar crashes, and the emotional overload—remember this:
Your kids are not something you need to perform for.
They are not a project to optimize.
They are your present.
And being present with them—however imperfectly—is more than enough.