“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…just like the one I used to have…”
Bing Crosby tender voice fills the room…my family’s artificial Christmas tree light up beautifully.
My mind flew those many years ago, not to the first white Christmas in Upstate NY, not to the first snow angel I ever made or how touching real snow felt like.
It went back to the days where my hair was still chopped short like a boy, when climbing trees and racing my little yellow bicycle were my favorite things to do.
On December 24th usually in the afternoon, you can find little me and my two even smaller brothers out in backyard of our parents’ house pulling out green grass and stuffed them as many as we could into our small shoes.
We would then carefully place them neatly under our parents’ plastic Christmas tree before the three of us went to bed. Excitedly wishing morning will come soon. Oh, the anticipations…I vividly remember them.
Christmas morning come and with our wrinkled pajamas we would all raced to the tree and found the grass gone, one present would sit neatly right next to our shoes.
After church, we would be busy helping our mother welcoming neighbors who will drop by for lunch to celebrate. The parents would be eating, talking and childrens would be running around the backyard playing.
Those were good times…
My childhood Christmas memory wasn’t filled with the different presents we got but instead with that green green grass of home.
This year will be my first Christmas as a solo mom – well last year I was alone with my family thanks to the ex’s job – and honestly, it’s not easy. Sending our Christmas cards and writing my last name in my maiden name was tougher than I though it would be.
To pump up the spirit, I had started a new tradition with Lil’ A…Christmas tree decorating. He had so much fun putting all the plastic ornaments on, albeit it was a bit messy with them mostly hanging on the lower branches but the point is he smiled and laughed a lot.
New memories are being carved…we are weaving memories together…
I believe Christmas goes deeper beyond those colorful ribbons, more than how many presents we receive and those are what I’m trying to pass along to this boy. His family may had been torn but he would feel the love engulfing him.
Just because my parents now doesn’t have a backyard with green grass to run around or pulled out to feed Santa’s reindeer, it doesn’t mean that I won’t be able to weave new Christmas traditions with my 4 years old. I’m sure we’ll be fine; we’ll knit our own traditions along with times.
Merry Christmas, everyone!