We were dreamers
Not so long ago
But one by one
We all had to grow up.
When it seems the magic slipped away
We find it all again on Christmas Day.
Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that’s playing
There’s no time to waste
There’s so much to celebrate.
“Believe” – The Polar Express (written by Alan Silvestri and Glen Ballard)
It’s slightly cliché this time of year but … I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m thankful for. I’m sure many of you who read my blog probably think I’m an ungrateful wretch (and mom) who complains all the time and doesn’t appreciate the bountiful blessings in her life. But you’d be wrong. Blogging about the challenging aspects of life and parenting just helps purge the mental stress that I carry daily, most of which has nothing to do with my kids. But those aspects do not define me.
I’m not going to talk about that stuff today, though. Instead, I want to tell you what I’m most thankful for this year. I could easily rattle off a list of things: my husband and partner in all things, my children, my parents, my family and friends, my in-laws, my home, my health (and that of my family), this blog, Josh Groban (come on, you had to see that one coming!), COFFEE, wine, Disney World, stretchy pants and slippers, the crisp and refreshing scent of fall, pepperoni pizza, bobka, snow (I know that sounds crazy but I’m a Syracuse girl at heart), the holiday season (Thanksgiving and Christmas), and oh so many more glorious things.
But what I’m most thankful for this year are memories and traditions and, most significantly, making the time to cherish and indulge in them during the most wonderful time of the year. No matter what you or I have on our plate, we always have time. Most often we just choose to look away or pretend we don’t see it. Humans are notorious for this—using “time” (or the lack thereof) as an excuse for everything: “I don’t have time for that.” “If only I had more time to fit that in.” “Where do you find the time?” “If I have time, I’ll take care of that.” “Hurry, we don’t have time to waste.” “Stop dawdling, we’re running late.” “I need more time in a day.” “I can’t possibly fit anything more into our already-jam-packed schedule, especially this time of year.”
We’re constantly pushing against the clock, flitting to one activity and then the next and then the next and then the next after that. And we push our kids to adhere to this chaotic schedule as well. We rarely find a minute to clear our own heads, let alone deliberately slow down long enough to make time for the people and the things that truly matter (and I don’t mean material things). But if you really stop and think about it, we have all the time in the world. Let me say that again: We have all the time in the world and that time is utterly and completely under our control. All the things and activities that clutter our daily lives don’t mean anything. It’s our memories and traditions that we cling to in moments of despair—and even in moments of hope and joy. At least for me. And all it takes is one tiny, inconsequential moment to see that clearly. For me, that moment occurred about three weeks ago. Let me take you back there and explain where I’m coming from.
It was the morning of Sunday, Nov. 3. My family started the holiday season off a little (OK, a lot) early this year. Ugh, fine, if I’m being honest, I’m the one who started the season off early, LOL. I know the first weekend in November sounds insane (we barely just finished trick-or-treating, right?!) but the way I see it, we only have a short time to bask in the peace and beauty of this season and I don’t wanna waste even a minute of it. Plus, I’ve been so down in the dumps lately that I’ve been latching on to anything and everything that makes me feel happy, which means putting up our Christmas tree and decorations while prancing around the family room to Percy Faith, Andy Williams, Ray Conniff, the Carpenters, even the Chipmunks—all the music my parents used to play as a kid. And so, we all woke early that bright Sunday morning, donn(er)ed (see what I did there?!) a pair of Christmas socks, and got right down to the festivities. And you know what? I’m so happy we did it that day because as soon as my daughter came downstairs the next morning—clutching her Yukon Cornelius socks—the first thing she did was run to see our Christmas tree, sigh blissfully, and say “I just looooove Christmas.” It made me all warm and gooey inside. She truly is her momma’s daughter. 😊
Anyways, back to my story. With every Christmas song that came on that day (because of course I play Christmas music all day long), I wistfully melted into the Christmases of years past, back when I was a little (and a not-so-little) girl gazing lovingly at our tree, the tiny baby Jesus in our Nativity set, and the Santa and Mrs. Claus mistletoe heads my mom used to put up every year. Back to the festive, homey, decadent holiday bubble that my parents—and grandparents—created for all of us. I can’t explain it exactly, but whenever this time of year rolls around, I get this intense longing, this incredibly heartbreaking ache in the pit of my stomach over what was and will never be again.
Christmas as a kid was The.Absolute.Best.Thing.Ever. And my family never disappointed. Whether it was driving through my Nana and Papa’s neighborhood to gush over the “street of Christmas lights” or my uncle dressing up as Santa Claus and handing out candy canes or contests for who could eat the most pierogi on Christmas Eve or begging Dziadziu to play “Santa Must Be Polish” over and over again, every moment just felt magical and happy. I love to reminisce about those times because they serve as a reminder for everything that’s good about life and family, memories and holiday traditions. But it’s also bittersweet because I don’t want those moments and traditions to only exist somewhere in my memory. I want to immerse myself in them every year for the rest of my life. And the fact that I can’t makes me so incredibly sad.
My husband and I were talking about this recently. We were in the car chasing around and we had Christmas music playing in the background. A Ray Conniff song came on and I could feel the melancholy creep slowly over my body (when it comes to my Christmas music, I am severely traditional). In those moments I’m right back in my parents’ cozy living room, the mouthwatering aroma of coffee wafting through the room, the colored lights twinkling on the Christmas tree, Andy Williams ho ho ho-ing on the stereo, and the sounds of children’s laughter and crinkling wrapping paper overtaking my mind. And I simply cannot bear the thought of not spending Christmas with my whole family (we’re scattered all across the U.S.) and celebrating the way we used to. Oh, how we children take those glorious moments for granted! At that point, I turned to my husband and said “Christmas just doesn’t feel the same anymore. It’s so depressing that we won’t ever get to experience the childlike wonder of the holidays again. You know, when every moment felt like the first time.”
And suddenly I felt this horrifying sense of shame. Because while the Christmases of now may feel nostalgic and sad to me, viewing them not as a child but as a grown-up rife with responsibility and stress (especially this time of year), they are the pinnacle of the holidays for my kids. These early years are the “first” magical Christmases for my babies. They are the start of their memories and holiday traditions, and it’s up to me (and my husband of course) to shower them with the love, the happiness, the joy, the passion that my own parents showed me all those long years ago. And, most importantly, it’s up to me to make the time to fully saturate ourselves in traditions both old and new—even when our schedules are already packed to the gills. Because these are the memories my children are going to carry with them into adulthood, and parenthood.
They’re going to remember days spent making pierogi, bobka, and Christmas cookies; collecting our storybook ornaments from every place we traveled to as a family; visiting the North Pole on their beloved Polar Express train ride (which they beg to go on every year!); decorating gingerbread houses at the local rec center; cuddling on the couch every night to watch the next show on our Christmas movie list; waking up on Christmas morning to the heavenly smell of pumpkin cinnamon rolls baking in the oven; singing along to Christmas carols while driving through the “Magic of Lights” holiday village; sipping daddy’s special hot cocoa and marshmallows as we settle into our sleepy “cocoon” (that’s what we call our home); standing at the downstairs window every night before bed to sing “O Christmas Tree” while watching the colored lights twinkle on the tree outside; and so many more traditions I know we’ll make together along the way. Just the thought of them carrying on these customs makes my heart soar to the moon!
I often wonder if my parents felt this way back then. Did they make Christmas so special and festive and perfect for me and my siblings because they grew up with their own wonderful memories of the holidays? Did they realize the legacy they were building? Because this time of year means everything to me. Everything. In fact, I can think of few things that are more important to me than building a lifetime of cherished holiday memories and traditions with and for my children. I can’t imagine I’m the only parent who feels this way nowadays, but maybe I am. Maybe I live too much in the past, but isn’t that the point of creating these beautiful moments and holding onto them for dear life? To relive them over and over again, and pass them on to those we hold most dear? You better believe it is.
So, yeah, this year I’m most thankful for my memories and traditions. They are the road map for who we are individually and who we are becoming as a family. They are the only things that matter and the only things I care to make time for this lovely holiday season. And that’s what I’m going to do—this year and for all the years to come.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I wish you and yours a season of peace, bountiful blessings, and happy memories!