Holiday Memories

I pulled a big box of Christmas decorations up from the basement and the kids were all over it. They wanted to hang stockings and set up the nativity scene. Seizing upon their enthusiasm, I played The Nutcracker on the stereo. Suddenly, in my mind I was transferred to my old kitchen, watching my two little ballet dancers twirl and leap over cracked linoleum with unbridled joy. At age 4, Lil’J would try to jump and spin higher and higher, and 2-year-old C would be daintily walking on tiptoes and then gracefully hopping from foot to foot. We would turn the lights off in the kitchen and dance by the filtered light from the dining room. “Spin me,” one of them would inevitably request, and I would lift my baby into the air and spin around like the Sugar Plum Fairy. We often danced through the whole CD.

They don’t remember their grand performances, but they do remember the music from the Nutcracker, and I catch them humming or whistling the tunes during the holiday season. I miss my children. I mean, I still have them and I love each phase of their childhood, but I miss the littler versions of them. I miss their openness and playful spontaneity. While still fun and enthusiastic, my teen and ‘tween are just that much more self-conscious. Gone are the days of ballet dancing in the kitchen to the Nutcracker.

Christmas brings out a montage of memories, and when we decorate the tree my favorites are the photo ornaments that feature the kids during different stages of their childhood. These used to be photos that pre-school or kindergarten teachers took, and then turned into ornaments. Now they’re school photos in frames from the Christmas Tree Shop. I got two new photo-holding ornaments this year, and I eagerly await the kid’s school photos (they both did re-takes this year…go figure.) One special ornament that probably started this whole tradition is a white heart that holds a picture of Big J and I kissing on our wedding day. What a great gift from a good friend. Our tree, I’ve decided, is even more beautiful because it tells the story of our family.

As my solace in this fast-moving motherhood blur, I remind myself constantly that we’re still making memories. C and I made cookies this past week, she made the batter all on her own. Lil’J and I will take our annual Christmas shopping trip together next week, and we’ll crack up over the stupid present ideas and imagine Big J’s response when we buy him a “soap on a rope.” Yes, I miss my little son and daughter, but they’re still little, aren’t they? Maybe, to me, they always will be.