I thought about it. “Regular magic disappears,” I said. “Christmas magic is the kind that hides in the quiet parts. The parts where nobody is looking.”

It looks like your title got cut off, but I can infer the heartwarming vibe you’re going for:

I opened a small, heavy box from him (wrapped in three layers of tape, because he’s six). Inside was a smooth river rock, painted gold, with the word “HOME” written in wobbly red letters.

“It’s a paperweight for your desk,” he explained. “So you don’t float away when you write.”