SHOPPING
I drove around for over fifteen minutes trying to find a parking place at the mall and when I finally spied one, a little red Beetle whipped into it before I could round the corner.
Besides that, after taking a whole day off just to go Christmas shopping, most of what was on the sale flyer wasn’t in the store and what I had put on layaway three months ago was now on sale for half price.
And nothing was the right size or the right color or matched the rest of what I had bought and if I couldn’t buy five of the same thing, then I might as well not buy any because everyone had to have one or there would be crying.
It’s going to be a light stringing,
Bell ringing,
Tree trimming, always remembering,
Rushing and bustling,
A hurrying, scurrying,
Hectic holiday season.
COOKIE MAKING
When it was time to do the baking, my daughter made the icing and decided that army green was an appropriate Christmas color, so Santa, the reindeer and the snowmen all joined the service that year.
I wanted to make trays for work and my husband’s office and for our friends, so I had to bake for several days, hiding everything on the shelf in the closet because no one ever goes in there.
But they did.
And they ate their favorite cookies out of the tubs, which were the frosted sugar cookies that take the longest time to make, of course.
It’s going to be a light stringing,
Bell ringing,
Tree trimming, always remembering,
Rushing and bustling,
A hurrying, scurrying,
Pie baking, cookie making,
Hectic holiday season.
SNOW
Now all the family is here to celebrate and just in time because it starts to snow again and the roads are closed.
It snowed last night, too, so everyone wants to go sledding and build snowmen. We finally get everyone bundled up in snowsuits and boots and mittens and caps and then the littlest one says he has to go potty and so we have to undo the caps and mittens and boots and snowsuit.
Much later, the cold red noses are wiped and the hands warmed and cocoa drank and cookies eaten. And all the cousins play downstairs and nobody worries when they argue because all we have to say is, “If you’re not good, Santa won’t come and leave you any presents.”
It’s going to be a light stringing,
Bell ringing,
Tree trimming, always remembering,
Rushing and bustling,
A hurrying, scurrying,
Pie baking, cookie making,
Snow blowing, sled going,
Hectic holiday season.
CHRISTMAS EVE
The carolers are singing and we go out and join them and everyone goes to church and hears the wonderful story about the birth of Christ.
And when we come home, all the presents are wrapped and under the tree and the stockings are hung and the kids are too excited to go to sleep, but all we have to say is, “If you don’t go to bed, Santa won’t come and leave you any presents.”
Quiet descends and we sit and watch the lights wink on the tree and hope that on Christmas Day all the toys make noise and all the baby dolls bawl; that the bike and trike bells ring and the train whistles blow and the race cars speed around the track just like the instructions said they would.
And then on Christmas day when everything has been opened and played with and tried on, we sigh in relief that it all works and all fits and is in all the favorite colors.
And with only three hundred sixty-four more shopping days until we get to do it all over again, we know...
It’s going to be a light stringing,
Bell ringing,
Tree trimming, always remembering,
Rushing and bustling,
A hurrying, scurrying,
Pie baking, cookie making,
Snow blowing, sled going,
Family gathering, Peace on earth,
Wonderfully joyous holiday season.
A Mother’s Christmas Reflection
I love my children dearly, but somewhere between the exuberance of childhood and the maturity of college, they pass through a stage where they temporarily become The Grinches Who Stole Christmas.
As the holiday season approaches, I bring out the Christmas boxes for the traditional trimming of the Christmas tree. Suddenly, the air resounds with teenage caroling.
“I have homework; do we have to decorate the tree tonight?”
“You and Dad string the lights; I’ll watch.”
“I don’t want to go to Arkansas with the family for Christmas. My friends don’t think you should make me; I can stay with them.”
“Are we done yet?”
Why is it that indulging in Christmas traditions doesn’t appear to be part of a teenager’s social calendar? From a mom’s point of view, we cling to traditions like sugar cookies, reading the Christmas Story and hanging stockings, even as our Christmas spirit is sorely tested. Once we embark on another December adventure, our tempers grow short and our emotions fray when our teenagers don’t comply with our impatient cries to “Be happy—it’s Christmas!”
I remember as a kid, I saved my money to buy presents for my sisters and parents. Tradition meant taking time to find that special toy, hairbrush or barrette that would make Christmas morning so special. One year, Mom and Dad took us to Macy’s in Atlanta, Georgia where we separated so no one knew what the others bought. My sister and I got lost—such a big store—but I don’t remember it bothering us. Our parents didn’t worry about us getting kidnapped as we shopped. Granted, our changing society has forced us to abandon some traditions for safety’s sake, but what happened to the others?
It appears to be a sad fact that the very lifestyle we work so hard to obtain can actually prohibit us from enjoying the better things in life. We work hard to earn money; we want our children to “have it better than we did.” But in doing so, we lose sight of what’s important. Family and tradition begin to take a back seat to overtime and second jobs as we try to earn that little extra. In turn, as our kids grow older, they don’t see the need of preserving those traditions. They boo-ha making cookie cutter cookies, singing Christmas carols, and decorating the tree.
Ah, decorating. Many ornaments on the tree are special handmade gifts from the kids, or perhaps they were bought for the kids to remember some event. (Yes, some of them were bought at after Christmas sales, but that’s another tradition.) Airplanes and balloons; reindeer playing volleyball and golf; crabs from South Carolina and a streetcar from San Francisco. I wonder if my grandchildren will be more interested in these collections than my teenagers appear to be.
After all, the ornaments are only in view once a year. Each glitter-covered pinecone; each tissue paper wreath with the school picture inside, and all the little twisted pipe cleaner candy canes bring tears to my eyes as they’re carefully hung on the tree. All to the memorable words—“Mom, don’t you dare hang that picture of me up there!”
Of course, it’s our own fault. Mothers are the ones who create Christmas traditions—those sentimental, emotional customs handed down from one generation to another. By making Christmas traditions, mothers hope to keep their children forever; with flour on their faces from cookie dough or ribbon wrapped around their bodies because they wanted to help.
Yet the very act of creating traditions leads us to disaster. Have you ever found the toy you just purchased, for only half the price at the next store you entered? It’s the same principle.
Kids are contrary—one hundred percent guaranteed. So count on the fact that children will outgrow traditions, but mothers won’t.
Raise your hands, girls (and now mothers), if your mother made or bought you and your sisters matching dresses for the holidays. Did you dress up for Christmas dinner? We might have unwrapped presents in our pjs, but we fancied up for the turkey and pumpkin pie.
Do you remember t
he candlelight church service at midnight on Christmas Eve? The traditional carols still remind me of holidays gone by and some very special magic. After all, on what other night of the year did your mom let you stay up well past midnight?
I suppose the best we can hope for is that when our teenagers grow up and become parents, those traditions we tried so hard to maintain will resurface. Imagine sometime in the future, you overhear your daughter tell her child, “When I was a little girl, Santa would always leave a Life Saver® Storybook in my stocking.” (That was a second-generation tradition, and I’m happy to say, they didn’t outgrow it until much later than the rest.)
Is it hard to recall how your parents whispered to you, and you whispered to your child, that Santa would not pass by? He always knew where we were, whether it be our own beds or Grandma’s house.
However, my children are teenagers now, and for a few years it doesn’t seem to make much difference what traditions I try to create. They will be outgrown, outmaneuvered and tossed aside, along with the bedtime stories and lap sitting.
But regardless of the intervening years when the holidays seem fraught with commercialism, stress and teenagers, the day will come when you hear your child say, “When I was a kid, we would always...
...go caroling
...get fruitcake from our neighbor
...go to Grandma’s
...get to open just one present Christmas Eve
...give fruitcake to our neighbor.”
Or any one of a hundred traditions mothers have created and passed down from generation to generation.
Until that day, instead of trying to force tradition on restless teenagers, remember that a tradition is actually a memory made with family. So regardless of what should have been cooked, decorated, sewn or bought, time with family creates its own traditions. And while some might be neglected for a while, they really won’t be forgotten.
The Hungry Christmas Guest
“Let’s have an old-fashioned Christmas,” Mom said as Dad got the holiday boxes out of the attic.
“Does that mean we don’t get presents?” nine year old Bobby asked. He’d had his eye on an Erector Set and couldn’t believe Mom would ask Santa not to bring him one.
“Tsk.” Mom made that sound with her tongue that Bobby knew meant she didn’t like what he said. “Bobby Brown, you know Christmas is more than presents.”
“Yeah, but, Mom...”
“There are people all over the world who would be thankful for food on the table and clothes on their backs,” she reminded him as they took the boxes to the living room where Dad had put the tree.
For a moment, Bobby didn’t pay attention to his mom. This year, they had gotten the biggest tree they could find at the tree farm. It rose majestically from the floor, its branches full and the scent of pine rich in the warm air. Bobby heard a faint pop, pop, and at first thought it was the logs in the fireplace. When he took a step closer to the tree, he heard it again. Crack, pop, crack. Looking intently, as he often did when focusing on a bug or the ants building a home in the backyard, Bobby moved a branch aside and peered deeper into the tree.
Pop.
Bobby jumped back. “There’s something in the tree!” He grabbed his dad’s hand and jerked him forward.
“What?” Dad asked. Bending over, hands on knees, he looked where Bobby pointed. That was one of the things Bobby liked best about his dad. No matter what he was doing, he would always stop and answer questions, help him ride his bike or learn his stupid spelling words. Well, Bobby thought they were stupid, even if his dad said it was important to learn them.
“Right there.” Bobby pointed.
His dad’s eyebrow rose as he closely studied where Bobby pointed. “Ah,” he said as he nodded and rose. Bobby looked up expectantly. His dad knew everything and from his nod, Bobby knew he had an answer for the popping sound.
Pointing, his dad said, “See that little pinecone? As the tree begins to warm up, the pinecones start opening, making little popping noises as they do.”
“Oh.” Bobby frowned. “It isn’t a ghost or something?”
His dad laughed. “Afraid not; just a little pinecone.”
Pop, crack!
As though the pinecone took offense at being called little, it continued to pop as Bobby helped his dad untangle lights, checking to make sure all the bulbs worked before he put them on the tree.
“Wait a minute,” his mom said, just as Dad lifted his string of chili pepper lights; the ones Mom complained about every year.
“As I was saying, I would like an old-fashioned Christmas this year. We’ll make some of our presents and wrap them in handmade paper.” She then pulled two boxes of lights out of a sack. Bobby tilted her hand so he could see what she had.
“Candles?” Bobby thought the chili peppers were cooler.
“A long time ago, before they had electricity, people would clip candles on their trees for light. Since we don’t want a fire to start, we’ll use these. They’re replicas.”
“Repli...what?” Even if Bobby didn’t like spelling, he did like the sound of new words.
“Replica. That means it’s like something else; just a little different.”
“Oh. Well, aren’t Dad’s chili lights replicas?”
Mom scrunched up her eyes and mouth. “No.”
Bobby looked at his dad, sure he would argue for the red rubber peppers. He had a faraway look in his eyes. “Old-fashioned Christmas, huh? With eggnog and caroling, a Yule log and snuggling by the fire?” He grinned at Mom, who stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Yuck. Mushy grown-up stuff.
“And stringing popcorn and cranberries. Maybe even decorating cookies and hanging them on the tree, too.” His mom continued the list, turning around to smile at Bobby.
“Cookies? The kind you cut out and bake and put frosting on?” Bobby’s eyes lit up. If there was one thing he loved more than getting presents, it was his mom’s Christmas cookies.
“Yes. All of that. Would you like to help?”
“Yippee!” Bobby yelled, forgetting the chili pepper lights and popcorn, intent on making those great cookies.
* * * *
“Bobby Brown, you get in here right this minute!”
Bobby looked up from his Spiderman comic. His mom sounded mad, but with only a week left before Christmas, he had been really good. He had told the Santa at Macy’s about the Erector Set and didn’t want to mess up getting that present by being naughty.
“Now, young man!”
He jumped up from the floor and ran down the hall, figuring his mom probably had an inside track with Santa. He wasn’t about to take a chance she would call him and report any bad behavior.
“Just exactly what is this?” His mom stood by the Christmas tree, decorated with strung popcorn and cranberries, candle lights and Christmas cookies tied with ribbon. Personally, Bobby thought hanging cookies on a tree was a waste, but his Mom hadn’t used all of them and had promised to make more.
“I didn’t do it,” Bobby said even before he got close enough to see.
“Bobby?” His mom pointed and he looked.
Cookie crumbs sprinkled the dark carpet beneath one branch of the tree. Looking up, Bobby saw the gingerbread boy cookie; two bite marks where his feet should have been.
“Mom, honest! It wasn’t me.”
His mom gave him the eye, then tsked—twice, no less—and swept the crumbs into her palm. She carefully untied the half-eaten gingerbread boy and stalked out of the living room. “I’ll just have to replace him, but I’d better not catch you eating another one. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bobby automatically answered, even though he hadn’t done it.
Pop, pop, crack.
It sounded like the Christmas tree was laughing at him. He puckered his mouth in thought, looked really close at the tree, then went back to his room.
* * * *
Bobby walked past the Christmas tree on his way to dinner the next night.<
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“Oh, boy,” he breathed when he saw the mess scattered beneath the branches. Among his mom’s brightly wrapped presents were little pieces of popcorn. Lots of little pieces. He looked along the string of cranberries and popcorn to where there was a gap—three cranberries and no popcorn between them.
It was the only time in Bobby’s whole nine years he wished he had a little brother or sister; even a dog. He just knew he needed someone to blame this on.
Sure enough, just as they were finishing dinner, his mom spoke up.
“Dear, something, or someone,” she looked right at Bobby even though she was talking to Dad, “has been making a mess of our Christmas decorations.”
“Mom, I didn’t eat the popcorn. It’s stale, anyway,” Bobby immediately defended himself.
His mom looked at him, hard. With a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she said, “Well, what on earth is causing popcorn to fall off the string and bites of cookie to disappear?”
His dad winked at him as he answered her question. “Hmm, maybe we have a mouse for the holidays.”
Bobby grinned. They both liked to tease his mom, but this time, she didn’t laugh.
“Mouse?! George, you get a trap, right this minute. I’ll not have a mouse in this house!”
“Okay, okay, maybe it’s not a mouse,” his dad said as he picked up his empty plate and started for the kitchen. Just as he walked through the doorway, he tipped his head back and said, “Maybe it’s a ghost instead.” He laughed and ducked when Mom threw her napkin at him.
* * * *
After the third night, half a star cookie was missing, along with more popcorn.
“Well, whatever it is doesn’t appear to like cranberries,” Dad said the next evening as they sat in the living room playing Parcheesi. “Maybe we should have hung the chili pepper lights after all.”
Bobby had an idea, but waited until his parents were in bed before he sneaked back to the living room with his flashlight. Settling himself on the big couch, he waited.
And waited; and waited.
His eyes felt heavy and he yawned. He squirmed around on the cushions, trying to stay awake; hoping to catch whatever it was eating the decorations.
Christmas Quilt Anthology Page 4
