Deck the halls with boughs of nostalgia and pour another cup of childhood cheer. The DailyCandy edit staff shares cherished photos from seasons long ago. Happy Christmahanakwanzika from our younger selves to yours.

This photo was taken in my childhood home in Düsseldorf, Germany, where children open their presents on Christmas Eve. I’m the chubby one on the left happily chewing on my grandma’s cookies.

This was shot on my fourth birthday, five days after Christmas. That’s me in the middle, with four of my cousins. We each had been given a Pooh Bear. I am clearly unhappy about the universal gift and am showcasing early tendencies toward brattiness.

I never liked Santa. Weak grooming skills. Poor diet. Plus, lap sitting is invasive. Just look at my face. It’s basically screaming: “Really? I can’t be bothered to tell you what I want. Just bring Barbies, duh.” He needs to take a page from the Easter Bunny.

Here I am, watering the Christmas tree. My parents used the holidays as an opportunity to landscape. We decorated live trees that we would plant a few days after Christmas. To this day, years and years of trees from Christmases past line the long driveway to our house.

That’s me, with the long feet and goofy glasses, and my little sister. Every year our dad took us to some random seasonally decorated office building to snap Christmassy pics in the lobby — because that’s what every red-blooded American family does. Right?

My brother and I looked like innocent Christmas choir angels. But at that age (approximately 6 and 8), we couldn’t stand that close to each other without it ending in bodily harm.

A (very brief) stint as a dance recital costume model left behind an abundance of pent-up sass. All it took for 7-year-old me to let it out was a Santa hat and some mom jeans.

This was taken on Christmas morning. We are pretending our wagon is Santa’s sleigh. I had too many accessories, the best brother, and Willard the Dinosaur back then. Some things don’t change.

The shifty eyes say it all: Mini, preppy me lying to fake Santa about what I wanted for Christmas, because I knew real Santa already had my list and would never ask such personal questions at a mall.

Stand back, boys. This little dreidel’s ’bout to show you how it’s done. Arms up and … go!

I was 13, and I was terrified someone from school was going to see that I still sat on Santa’s lap. Trust me when I tell you that you did not want to be my parent when I was a teen.

This picture looks like it was taken on the last night of Hanukkah in suburban Chicago circa 1979. Or possibly in Brooklyn 2012. Also, I want that sweater back.

For me, Hanukkah was a black-tie affair. Lace and pearls? Check.

To my mother’s delight, I was an easygoing little chunker. Plop me under the tree with my best bud/cousin, one click, and off to the candy store for my reward.

This is 3-year-old me at Rockefeller Center during the busy Christmas season proclaiming, “New York City, I’ve arrived!” Note: White tube socks might have driven the hordes of tourists away.

You’d never know from this photo that I grew up in the Mississippi Delta, where the average December temperature is 52 degrees. This was the one and only year we had a snowfall big enough to build a snowman, so, naturally, we my dad went all out.

This is my sister and me filling Santa in on our expectations and demands. As you can tell from my expression, I often laugh the hardest at my own jokes.

Rhode Island winters are not for the faint of heart. My mom and I did our best to bundle up like holiday appropriate snowmen women.