Making Memories

Putting up Christmas decorations was always the highlight of the holiday season for me as a child.  My mom would put on our favorite Christmas records and we’d eagerly unpack the boxes, pulling wall hangings and ornaments out of what seemed to be decades-old tissue paper (that added to the timelessness of the process for me, as if these same decorations would delight generations to come).  I particularly loved the miniature town scene created by my grandfather, the little wooden crèche with the delicate shepherds and crinkly manger hay, and the fabric wall hanging depicting the five golden rings, three French hens, and other gifts from the classic carol.  Once all the decorations were in just their right spots – and these decorations did have specific,  unalterable locations, according to my childhood sense of right and wrong – I could sit back in the dim glow of the Christmas tree lights and marvel at the way our house was transformed overnight into a magical, festive place. 

I didn’t quite have that same sense of awe when I unpacked my own dusty bins of decorations this afternoon, mostly because I was trying to keep the girls from ingesting large quantities of several-year-old tissue paper.  Also, I didn’t have any Christmas music handy, so I had to settle for a CD of kids’ sing-along songs.  And my decorations aren’t exactly family heirlooms; they’re mostly stuff I’ve picked up on sale racks at discount stores that I initially figured would be serviceable until I found the time to carefully select really perfect decorations…only I never did.  So for the sixth year, my chintzy silver reindeer candle-holders will perch atop a shelf, while my chipped Walmart town scene will fill the staircase window sill. 

And now that my girls have helped me set out the decorations and watched me set each item in its spot (not necessarily the same spot as the years before, since my adult fickleness is constantly trying to assess whether the red and green stockings will too overtly clash with the plaid couch), I wonder whether these are indeed the makings of memories for my girls.  I wonder whether they will look back with fondness on my dollar-store Santa polar bear, as I do at my parents’ snow globe.  Maybe my mom didn’t necessarily have to shop long and hard for the perfect wall hanging.  She just brought one home and hung it up year after year, and that made it perfect – tradition. 

So although my current house looks nothing like a Pottery Barn catalog, neither did my childhood home – and I loved it all the same.  Probably more so.  Because what catalog features a doorknob hanger sporting a stuffed animal peeping out of a small stocking?  But that’s what made my home so home-like: all the quirky details that a child can’t help but love.  And judging by the girls’ ecstasy over the decorations we pulled out today, I have a feeling they wouldn’t want it any other way.