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The blogospshere never ceases to amaze me with the quality of writing I can happen upon out of nowhere. That is exactly how I felt when I happened upon Karrie, our featured affiliate, who is a "Mother, Writer, and Dirt-Lover." She, like other affiliates, somehow found us and emailed me about joining forces. Whenever I get those emails, I click on over to check out the blog that is mentioned, and when I first visited Karrie, I was struck by her crisp style of creative, intelligent writing. And when I spent a little more time checking our her space, I learned that not only is she an engaging, interesting writer, but she can also....shoot a gun. And once you see this gorgeous, sweet-looking mama, you will be just as amazed as I was. Check her out.
Enjoy this quintessential Karrie holiday piece!
Once, just once, I’d like to sit Norman Rockwell, Martha Stewart, and Mrs. Claus down at my kitchen table. I’d give them a five-pound bag of flour, a pound of butter, three bottles of tacky glue, and enough glitter and yarn to sink the Titanic. Along with them at the table sit my children, all dressed in special holiday sweaters. They have exactly 20 minutes.
Their only instructions: MAKE MEMORIES.
I have come to learn the hard way that children, no matter how we try to squeeze them into last year’s shoes and pants, continue to grow at incredible speeds. I’m quite certain that if I blink just a little too long they’ll be asking to bring their boyfriends and girlfriends to our Christmas Eve dinner, so I try, with all of my might, to make each and every holiday special.
This means wearing myself to near exhaustion in attempts to recreate even the first draft of any Norman Rockwell piece, which I’m pretty sure had a little kid throwing a temper tantrum in the corner and the dog’s ears glued together. (That’s why he probably did a second draft.)
There is something to be said for tradition. Tradition is the name we give to activities and events that are really a pain in the neck, but we force ourselves to do them because of tradition. Somehow, in our delusional holiday minds, we think that we need to provide our families with ever-lasting memories and these traditions so they can relish the nostalgia when they torture their own families with the same stuff in years to come.
For example, when I was little we had our own set of traditions. We always listened to Bing Crosby while baking Grandma’s butter cookie recipe, the one with the candied cherries in the middle. Another tradition was the crafting and gifting of a special ornament each and every year, so that by the time I was in my teens, my poor parents and grandparents had so many gooped up ornaments on their trees that they tended to pull the entire tree over. Then, on Christmas Eve, we would gather with the extended family and all partake in Wigilia, a Polish Christmas Eve dinner and celebration with its own set of quirky rules and traditions, not to mention less-than-tasty food. After dinner, the opening of one present (always a pair of pajamas), and the reading of The Night Before Christmas.
But as it is when two families unite, we’ve also adopted the traditions of my husband’s family. There are tree decorating parties, and game night sleepovers. There’s a brunch here, and a ladies lunch there. There are Santa hats to wear during opening presents on Christmas Day, and a ton of cut-out cookies, the kind with the four pounds of frosting on the top.
Put it all together, and the only time we might actually sit down during the month of December is during my dreamy get-together of holiday greats. Mrs. Claus could supervise the baking, Martha could improvise glue, glitter, and probably some paper scraps stuck under the table into a few marvelous and memorable ornaments, and Mr. Rockwell can sit quietly by, sketching while he rubs the glue out of the dog’s ears, humming a Bing Crosby tune.
However, here’s an update. I ain’t any of those people. I have yet to create a cut out that isn’t an undistinguishable blob of rock hard cookie, which I attempt to disguise with bright green frosting and sprinkles, and when my children were very young I could get away with gifting a mere pair of popsicle sticks glued together. But now that they’re older, the bar has been raised and soon will no doubt require [gulp] permanent paint. Thankfully, no matter the chaos we can still manage to turn on a favorite Bing album now and then. The tricky part is actually hearing it over the commotion and yelling when I force my kids to eat those Polish delicacies.
They may not be up to some standards, but we are indeed carrying on traditions. Not because we have to, but because it just feels like the right thing to do. We’ll spend the entire holiday season happily and wearily MAKING MEMORIES, because even the best parents know that come January, we will be MAKING A DRINK and putting our feet up, resting, and dreaming up new and fancier projects for the next year.
Karrie McAllister writes and mothers from Northeast Ohio. Contact her and read more at www.KarrieMcAllister.com.