I have given ornaments to the kids every year, something that represents a milestone or a new interest, places we've been and places we've lived. The original idea was for my sons to someday adorn their own trees with these ornaments that tells their story.
Our tree is a wonderfully large, lively assortment of Baby's First Christmases, ski trips, sports teams, first cars and travels. The ritual begins with an empty tree and boxes stacked on either side. One by one, memories emerge from the tissue: a football star, honor student, ski bum, little truck, Saguaro cactus, Disneyland train, graduation cap, beloved pet, and macaroni angel. Hand painted eggs and crystal snowflakes go high up in Loge, above wagging tails and inquisitive fingers. Darth Vader action figures and Gingerbread men bravely sit below. Box after box empties into our hearts the vivid memories of love that has defined and strengthened us.
I love to hold close these magical moments of the family in full action, and when I do I see again their hair fly in a soccer game or them scramble over a fire truck on a Scout outing. Ornaments have caught a bit of the sweetest and richest moments we have known.
It dawns on me now, as they adorn the tree and vie for attention, that for me the whole story is told in this way, all of it intermixed, my world. But for my sons, these ornaments are their starter pack, a prologue to a wonderful, eventful life ahead.
Merry Christmas, my loves.
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