A String of Lights

I love the time between Christmas and New Year. One can sit back and give thanks that the children had a happy Christmas. The adults, on the other hand, were as resilient as they could be because we all took some serious financial hits right before the Holiday. We all looked at each other, pooled our resources, and helped one another to prepare for the festivities to a level in which they could be prepare to. When all was said and done, we were fed, and the little ones had no idea there was true struggle to make their day happy happen.

In the past, New Year morning has always been busy with phone calls and messages ringing through the air. This New Year morning has started out the same. With a sip of coffee, I sit here and just shake my head thinking about the new news streaming in from family updates. I may have lost a car, but a family member lost a grandchild! Other news of people losing their jobs and other cars having broken down. One thing that all the phone calls ended with was something like, “Other than the loss, the experience was blessed in some way.” I reveled in their telling of their special moments. Here it is not even noon and I have shed a tear one minute to laughing the next. I feel the honor to be on a catch-up call list of friends and family.

Tradition has been so messed up since my mother has passed away. She made holidays so beautiful. Our family was a poor Native American family, but we had very happy holidays. As I sit here, I was about to gloat about the dozens of cookies I did get decorated, I am silenced by the memory where mom would set us down to decorate four, maybe more, dozens of sugar cookies. I opened a pouch of cookie mix, mixed them up with egg and butter, rolled them out and cut them out. Then I thought about the years when mom used to hand mix her cookie dough. She would wait for us to cut them out and cook them up. My daughter and I shared that same feeling this Christmas.

I smiled as I watched my daughter make the frosting because she made it just like mom did. Not many children learn from their grandparent like my daughter had. She just began to mix the various ingredients together until she made it just right. After my divorce, my children and I spent Christmas with my mother over the holiday break. I know that I have taught Hannah how to mix but mom had a technique, and I was proud of Hannah’s quality and near perfection. Red, green, yellow, sprinkles, gold and silver balls were used to decorate the sugar cookies.

Cookie mudslinging began. Is this supposed to be a candle? The cheap dough swelled so much that the shapes didn’t hold well. Laughter rang through the decorators as creative juices worked quickly to get the activity done. Bites of steaming hot stew were consumed as the artist chewed and drew their design on the cookie. Once the baby ate enough, mom and she retired to bed for the night leaving me, and my grandson to finish the cookies and the gingerbread houses to finish.

If I hadn’t lost my car, I wouldn’t have had this moment. You see, if I wasn’t forced to stop, I would have missed the gingerbread house decorating. If I didn’t lose my car on Friday, I wouldn’t have gone to my daughters until Sunday night and no gingerbread houses would have been made. Being transported to her home on Saturday gave us time to assemble the homes for decorating on Sunday. Yes, losing my car was devastating, but my grandson’s gift to me was perfection.

Years past, gingerbread house decorating has become a very serious activity for my family. Newbies always receive a house they must assemble. Patience is needed, because you move too soon, your walls do not hold up. If it is proven that one needs a prebuilt one, you will have it next year. However, the best ones will always be the ones that must be glued together.

Through the past few weeks, I had the opportunity to see all the variations of gingerbread houses that were available for purchase. Since my granddaughter is so momma dependent, I knew Hannah wouldn’t have a lot of time to decorate her house, so I chose small houses in a small village. We unpacked them, set the walls, and left them to dry so we could decorate them later. I thought the idea was perfect, I just didn’t know how perfect it would be on Christmas eve.

My grandson is autistic. At the age of four, we are finally hearing words. Words, no words, I still understood him. A bond between us has grown and with me staying with them for four days was the best Christmas gift I could give him. My presence was rewarded by his gift.

I do not know where Maddox came to knowledge that the houses were going to be decorated. I thought he would have been too small last year when our hodge podge village was constructed during a snowstorm. I could tell that he knew exactly what the gingerbread houses were all about. He hawked over the candy as we waited. He was excited to decorate.

Let me back up here for a moment. Hannah and I thought we better let the houses dry well because Maddox’s motor skills are a challenge. We didn’t want to set him up for failure, so we really glued the houses together. I had never been so thankful. I stood there looking at my bouncing, and I mean literally bouncing, baby boy all excited to decorate the houses looking up at me with his big dark eyes. ‘I can do this!’, I thought, ‘Hannah wants a gingerbread house, she will get it!’

Icing, candy to decorate with were gathered around the iced buildings. There sat grandma and grandson looking at the houses. I stopped and thought for a moment, I picked up the white icing bag and began to cover the top of the roof. His little fingers picked up a candy ball or a candy light and placed them on the house. I watched him with curiosity. I watched him with amazement. My eyes watched as he carefully picked up the candy and placed it onto the building. He was able to control his hands. Usually, when he is excited, his hands go everywhere. Not this time. He had it all under control. Once he was done, I connected all the Christmas tree lights together to make a string of Christmas tree lights. This was my gift; his love, his growth and his happiness. I am his gift I am I am proud to be a part of his memory.

Luna is so tiny yet. Oh, my. Princess syndrome for sure. She is just starting to crawl and so unpredictable even her sleep schedule threw the night into a whirl wind. She wouldn’t sleep unless mom was near. Presents needed to be wrapped and stockings filled, and little Luna made sure we wouldn’t sleep until 3 A. M.

Super Grandma was called upon. Cookies, milk, and carrots needed to be placed. Maddox and I unpacked the Santa dish and got everything ready for Santa to come. We carefully arranged our gingerbread houses around the cookies. Afterall, Santa would love to see our fine work as well. After a high-five, we began to crawl into bed.

Down the stairs flew my son-in-law with a Christmas book in hand and handed it to Super Grandma. The day had been long, and I ached. I hadn’t planned a long story. However, the first story was a must read, not just for Maddox, but Hannah who could hear me read as she fed the baby. The story will be medicine for her as much as memories for Maddox. Super Grandma began to read, ‘Twas the night before Christmas’ by light of my cell phone. I was so amazed that he lay so still as he listened to me read. Once I was done, he insisted on his “Very Hungry Caterpillar.” Books. After all, that too is an amazing grandma story for later telling.

I ponder the event of losing the car as a direct stop. I am a person who pushes myself hard. I don’t make excuses, but man, the harder I pushed the more I had to deal with. Interestingly, I said to myself, “I did the best I could.” And I was rewarded with a blessed Christmas. We really didn’t have much to work with, but it wasn’t the gifts, it was the time spent with each other.