(Sigh. I’m going to regret being silent some day.)
I have a child this Christmas who is decorating her own Christmas tree…and she has no ornaments. I mean, she probably has some in my basement, but they are not “hers” yet. So different from my experience 21 years ago.
Through the years, my aunt gave each grandchild–there were 17 of us–an ornament EVERY CHRISTMAS. Every single one. They corresponded with her current obsession…ceramics…cross-stitch…puffy paint…knit bells…felt birds…but each year, we had a new ornament. She has continued this tradition even now, with all of the great-grandchildren, and I imagine she will do the same with the great-greats as they come (there aren’t any quite yet…). I started my own Christmas tree adventure with her ornaments. Literally a box full of them.
We were broke. I was grateful.
When we Christmas Tree hunted (in the lot of the Tree Farm…ice and rain and mud kept us from silly-song-singing our way across the hillside) this year, and we took Rea and Bren’s picture in front of their chosen tree…I found myself fighting the urge to take a trip directly to the store to buy ALL THE THINGS to start their tree. I remember our first Christmas…the one when we found the least expensive tree that still looked sort of good, and put ONE string of lights on it…then covered it in our singular box of childhood ornaments (and promised to NEVER PUT ONE STRAND OF TINSEL on any tree that entered our house) and finished it all off with the topper his grandmother gave us. Oh my gosh, it was so ugly…but it was what we had.
And we were so happy with it.
I decided this year that I would start the tradition (albeit very late) for my nieces and nephews and my own children. I’m KICKING MYSELF for not starting this when Rea was born. The struggle? Finding an idea that is sweet, heartfelt, NOT tacky, not the ornament that they have to say “…oooohhhhh….yeaaaahhhhhh……thanks” about (trust me. i know that reaction. waaaaay too well)…something they won’t mock their silly aunt for when they’re 30 and putting it on their tree.
And then, I get all teary and choked up. Because those ornaments–all of them. Even the ones that were weird and tacky…the ones my aunt gave to us that we laughed about and said, “well, of course!”–those ornaments are so, so meaningful to me. And if I still had them (divorce is hard), I would proudly put them on my tree, sweetly tucked behind my kids’ footprints and the tempera-painted, cut-apart egg cartons with dangly bells.
This year, all the kids are going to get snowflakes. I haven’t decided how I will make them, and frankly, I don’t even care yet. I will put their names on them. And the year I gave them. And when they’re 45 and digging them out of the ornament box and deciding what ornaments go on the tree this year, because their tiny people are out of the house and starting their own traditions without them, and they could choose to put beautiful, all-the-same-color-scheme balls and icicles on their trees, but they decide those old, silly ornaments are the ones they want tucked back behind the silver balls and perfect ribbon…I will have done my aunt-ly job. I will have instilled the tiny bit of legacy I can give them of family. And Christmas. And a glimmer of joy in that moment.
I so wish I had done it sooner.
Here’s to making memories while we can. Before they’re gone and we’re too late. Because it happens.
So Fast.
All Is Grace 