I had a scheduled surgery a couple days before Thanksgiving, so my family helped put up our Christmas trees a little earlier than normal in case I wasn’t feeling up to it for a while. In no time at all, the trees, lights and ribbon were in place, and my husband drug out “the box.” It’s my carefully-stored, highly coveted box labeled “tree ornaments and Grandma’s nativity set.” AKA, treasures from years gone by.
Two of our teenagers noticed me opening the box as they were heading out the door, and one of them said, “Are you decorating the trees? Don’t do that without us!”
Well, well. I thought this was just a sentimental something that I loved to do. It didn’t occur to me that they still cared, but it melted my hear that they didn’t want to miss it. I replaced the lid and waited for a day when everyone was home together. Three weeks passed with conflicting work, school, and basketball schedules. We finally found a day when our oldest daughter didn’t have work or college. Our oldest son rearranged his plans, came straight home from work, and picked up siblings after school so they could get home sooner. I got everything out, put on the Christmas music, got the hot chocolate ready, and plugged in all the twinkly lights in anticipation.
Just then, our youngest son called to say basketball practice got moved up. And, of course, one of our kids came home sick.
(Sigh.) We turned off the music and got the kids ready for practice. Our oldest son was irritated that he rushed around to get here for nothing, so he left for the gym. I was annoyed that the schedule change messed up one of my favorite family moments. Our daughter just wanted to take medicine and go to bed. Everyone else was in a bad mood and didn’t even want to do it anymore.
Giant fail.
I grumpily dropped kids off, came home to make dinner, picked kids back up, and back home again. Just as we sat down to eat, a text pinged on my phone. Plans had changed and everyone would be home in just a few minutes. Yay!
I announced to the family that we would try this again when everyone was finished eating. There was no excitement. When they groaned in reluctance, I felt like Clark
Griswold as I heard myself saying, “We WILL decorate these stupid trees tonight, and you WILL like it because we are making a family memory!”
The truth is, it really wasn’t about the tree. I panicked. It had just hit me that this was the first year they weren’t all here together. Our oldest lives out of state and in a few months, her sister will follow. Our son could be deployed at any moment. Time with the kids under our roof are slipping away, and it felt palpable.
As everyone gathered around the box, I wondered if they would ever realize how special these moments are. I opened up the ornaments one at a time and took turns handing each of the children the ones just for them. If only these ornaments could talk! They would tell how our little one squealed with delight as she put her baby hand in the paint to wrap around the red ball of glass with her name written across the top. Or about the friend in the former Soviet Union who hand-stitched a ‘peace’ ornament for me when we shared a flat in the UK. The two crystal angels would tell about my babies who are celebrating Christmas with Jesus, and the bear holding a fishing pole would tell about the 19 inch pike caught by our 6 year old boy. Photos showing smiles through missing teeth, framed with painted popsicle sticks would remember how that child wanted to sleep by the tree that year to ‘catch’ Santa. The one framed in greenery was the year our daughter learned sign language to communicate because apraxia left her speech undecipherable. The wooden nativity ornament would tell how my sweet Grandmother held it in her hands on the last Christmas she was with us, before we knew it would be the last one. Wooden animals made out of painted sewing spools and yarn would reveal handwritten messages to each of the kids from my mom. Carefully folded paper ornaments from former students would laugh about how they would tell me I was their favorite. The painted wooden Christmas door would regale stories of the year we got married and bought a home of our own. Every ornament has a story, and together they tell what matter most to us. Faith, family, friends, and a bond that grows stronger with each passing year.
As I handed each ornament to my children, I would tell them some of these stories, hoping they might commit them to memory and share them with their own kids one day. I smiled through happy tears watching them laugh together and pretend to fight over who got to put their ornament in the prime viewing positions.
As we were getting ready for bed, I didn’t really know if it made an impression on the kids or not, but my heart was full. Then my oldest son stopped me to give me a hug.
“Mom, thanks for doing the Christmas ornaments with me.”
… There it is.
Have a blessed holiday season, friends!