Every year around this time, I secretly hope my boyfriend will insist we get a Christmas tree. Maybe he’ll put his foot down and demand garland and tinsel and twinkly lights. But each season comes and goes in our house without that sweet scent of pine, and nothing but a faint whiff of latke lingering in the air.

Such is the holiday season of an interfaith couple—he’s all for prolonging the holiday over 8 nights and I’m itching for a stocking hung by the chimney (or in our case, wall heater) with care. But as much as we love each other’s holidays, there’s a real sense that neither of us is willing to give up the traditions we grew up with; and we don’t. The important aspects are still there, under the questions of blue or red wrapping paper and when to exchange gifts.

It seems that the only times the issue of being interfaith ever becomes a problem for couples like us is when it involves where to send the kids after school (Hebrew school or catechisms?) and what to do come December. And while it can be a volatile topic, with a little compromise and open-mindedness the season can be merry and bright for everyone.

The key is this: there’s nothing wrong with celebrating both holidays. Take the elements that matter most and integrate them while respecting their individuality. For most people these days, holidays aren’t even about the miracle of light or the birth of a messiah; instead, holidays are about family and tradition.

For my honey, Christmas means waking up to warm cinnamon buns like his mom made, opening presents and eating until it’s time to watch football. It’s not exactly what Mary and Joseph had in mind, but to him, that’s what Christmas is at its very core. If I can give him that, it doesn’t make me any less Jewish—it just makes me a nice girlfriend. For me, Hanukkah is lighting candles and saying the prayer, which is the only time of year I say anything when I light a candle, then carefully arranging my little pile of gifts so I’m sure to have something to open every night. And that’s exactly what we do. This year we’re going out to see his family for Christmas, and I plan to participate to the fullest, just as he did at my family’s Hanukkah last year.

It’s a far cry from my elementary school days when I claimed it was against my religion to make little clay tree ornaments. I took personal offense at the very idea of singing Christmas carols. I avoided the red and green combo at all costs. I even turned down Santa-shaped cookies. But all that resistance only kept me from taking part in my friends’ celebrations… and for what? If someone flat-out refused to spin a dreidle I’d think they were intolerant and rude. By inviting me to participate in his holiday, my boyfriend isn’t saying “Your holiday isn’t good enough.” He’s saying “I love you, come share this with me. Pass the latkes and applesauce.”

Maybe next year we’ll have a bigger place where there’s room for an 8-foot tree. But for now I have a table-top topiary made of rosemary, surrounded by chocolate gelt and silver ribbon. This weekend I’ll break out my childhood menorah and ask my significant other to help scrape off the wax. Because it’s not about which day we exchange gifts or how we decorate the house. It’s about being together, and enjoying all the history and tradition each of us has to offer. (And if I get some Christmas cookies out of the deal, so be it!)

Sarah Glendon Lyons is a Los Angeles-based writer who doesn’t discriminate against cookies of any religion.