Running Stitch

Christmas has always been a magical time to visit my in law’s home, even before they were the grandparents of my children, or even before they were my in law’s.

My mother in law’s Noble Fir (always) twinkles with dancing lights and vintage Christmas ornaments, sprinkled amongst them are homemade ornaments Scott made when he was a little boy. She hangs glass snowflakes from the window, light candles fearlessly set among boughs of pine, and persistently sets up her manger scene, even though her son is sure to desecrate it when she is not looking (because he is twelve).

Every holiday her presents are wrapped up in the most sparkly paper with the brightest ribbons and bows and each gift is more than an item, it is presented with a special note ‘welcome to our family’ ‘thought this would be great in your hair’ ‘wait, who are you?’, that lets you know she wasn’t shopping at midnight on the 24th, throwing 8 boxes of yahtzee in the cart in hopes that covered the people on her shopping list, but that she was thinking of you when she picked out that jacket, necklace, toy castle (Scott’s gift circa 2003 -BK (before kids)).

In the ten years I have been invited into her magical holiday home, I’ve already come to expect, great food, beautiful decorations, and fun family gatherings. This year we are shaking things up a bit, moving Christmas morning next door (The Burrow) so as to accommodate Santa, and frankly Santa’s helpers who often overwhelm us with their generosity. We are lazy elves so if we open presents at our home, it saves Scott and I numerous trips back and forth ferrying, children, presents, and holiday wishes.

Christmas Eve will not change, I won’t give up those visits over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house to see her sparkling tree, and guess what’s in those pretty packages, and partake of the cranberry champagne and cinnamon pear/caramelized walnut salad. And Grandma makes those Christmas Eve’s about family, about our family, the new ones and the old ones. They are all remembered in that festive living room, by the fire, sipping bubbly drinks and gazing at the tinsel whilst holding a rambunctious two year old between your knees, because you know he’ll be, not the first in his line, but certainly the latest to take that tree to the ground, lights, ornaments and all.

People talk about the commercialism that has taken over this holiday and I hear them. They talk about taking back Christmas and making it homemade. And I embrace those ideas. I love working with my four year old on our Christmas cards, and watching him draw pictures of how his tree will look. I get a sense of accomplishment from the gifts I’ve made (not pictured here HellO!! spoiler!) and that I have to give to friends and family.

This year as the blanket of snow covers our road, our celebration becomes about our little family and less about everything else. The snow forced us to focus, we weren’t able to run out to the store for this or that, my car like the boys and I hasn’t left the driveway in almost two weeks (not really equipped for snow).

I love the traditions that my family and friends have embraced over the years. But when it comes down to it. Christmas for me? Is that festive living room, with the red rug, and the twinkly tree and my little sugarplums dancing at my feet (not too close to grandma’s tree okay?) holding the hand of the man I love and soaking up the Peace and Joy of the season as it culminates in pumpkin pie.

These pictures really don’t have anything to do with the post, but they are very much the background of our story these days. I’m not sure if my son realizes that Santa (is my best friend Mom- said very solemnly) is not actually coming tomorrow for brunch.