Last Saturday morning, we went out to the Papa Noel stand on Loop 360 and got ourselves a perfectly proportioned and perfectly-sized Christmas tree. I’m not exaggerating about its perfection. The A/C guy who came to the house yesterday said, “That is a perfect Christmas tree – I’ve never seen one so perfect.” So anyway, the girls had a nice enough time picking out their perfect Christmas tree and then telling the giant plywood Santa next to the stand that they wanted lollipops for Christmas. But they really get a kick out of having a tree inside the house.
They were able to put on lots of the ornaments themselves and, despite Turtle’s initial reaction when Twin Daddy brought it in the house, (crying, “I don’t like my Christmas tree Daddy!”) the girls love the tree. When they get up in the morning, the first thing Monkey does is go to the tree and say, “Hi Christmas Tree, I had a good sleep!” On her way to her room for Time Out, she says “Bye Christmas Tree, I go to Time Out now!” They both love to stand and point and talk about the ornaments up high, and to pull off the unbreakable ornaments decorating the bottom half of the tree. They each have their favorites that they carry around, talk to, eat with, put in their grocery cart, and take on car rides.
Turtle’s favorite is a little stuffed elf that my mother made sometime in the early 1980s. She made one for me, one for my sister, and one for all of our cousins; each is embroidered with the recipient's name. It is not fancy; the pattern was a simple two sided cartoonish cut-out that she stuffed with polyester fill and sewed closed. The stitching to close it up is imprecise and visible. You can see the pen outline of my name, where her embroidery didn’t quite follow the marks she made. It looks exactly like something I would make, with my impatience for sitting still and my lack of fine motor skills. I have always treasured that little elf and its imperfections, and to see Turtle cuddling with something that her Grandma Lupe made is overwhelming. I try very hard not to cry every time she picks it up, but I’m pretty unsuccessful.
I think it’s ok for the girls see me cry – I do it a lot so there’s no point in hiding it. I know they will grow to understand that the random fits of crying happen because there never will be enough sloppy little elves on our perfect Christmas tree.
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1 comment:
Love your story, especially about how your mother's sweet gift now thrills another generation of little girls. I still have four ornaments from the 1940s that hung on our family tree when I was growing up. They are falling apart, of course, but they are precious to me, too. Have a very merry and blessed Christmas!
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