Decorating with stories – my favorite part of Christmas. Every year, it’s like finding an old mix tape from high school in a dusty box.
We have a tradition. The first ornament we hang comes from my parent’s first christmas tree.
My mom, a young
We talk about the way my Dad looked like James Dean. We laugh at how, in the pictures from her younger days, my Mum always seems to be wearing flowing caftans. We joke about how it was a good thing she hadn’t discovered Modge Podge yet or we’d be hanging decoupaged whiffle balls. We wonder if they sat in the dark and held hands. Sipping Irish Coffee and watching twinkling tree lights. We wonder if my Dad, even back then, hated hanging Christmas tree lights.
Next up, ornaments from our first Christmas back in Tennessee. After almost a year of living with my parents out of state, I was finally back in my own apartment. Single mother. 3 year old Girl Wonder. Broke. We collected fruit from Sweetgum trees outside our building. We spent an entire afternoon coating them in glue and glitter.
I tell Girl Wonder stories of her 3 year old self. Her pigtails and love of tutus and red sparkly shoes (which my Dad bought her every year at Target till they no longer came in her size).
Hanging and talking. Ornaments from her first Christmas. Shrinky Dink ornaments I made as a kid. Her cotton ball snowman from Kindergarten. One I received from a friend in junior high. Two from a friend in Hawaii.
Beribboned bits of history. Each year it takes longer to put up the tree. The stories never come out the same way twice. But the love is always the same.