My Most Treasured Christmas Memory

I would like to first start off by apologizing for the lack of posts—this week has truly been a difficult one.  Not because of any shortage of writing, but because as Christmas quickly approaches, I became overwhelmed with the emotions of missing my Mother, and thoughts about the last Christmas that I shared with her, not knowing at the time that it would indeed be the very last Christmas.  It seems as if each year these emotions kick into high gear around the same time—on or about the 20^th of December.  I’m not sure why, but I’m guessing that it’s because the date of her passing is 10 days later, on the 30^th. Most times, the emotions can be extremely difficult to shake.

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I shared in an earlier post how this happens to me every year, and as I read that post late last night, I took notice of the suggestions that I gave for overcoming such feelings.  Constantly striving to be a person who practices what I preach, I decided to follow my own advice of reflecting on good times to ease the pain of grieving. The first thing that came to mind was my most treasured Christmas memory. I must say that just thinking about it did indeed turn my spirits around for the better.

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I was the one who always tried to guess what was under the tree during Christmas time.  I would wait until my mother was preoccupied with something else, and I would sneak to the tree and lift and shake the gifts—even going so far as to pulling the tape off of a corner or two to peek inside.  Whenever I would hear my mom coming, I would put everything back the way that it was, run to the other side of the room and pretend to read.  I always thought that she never suspected a thing, but one year she proved me wrong.

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I was about eight or nine years old, and on the morning of Christmas I ran to the tree (as usual) rushing to open all of the presents that I knew were waiting for me. However when I got to the tree, the bottom looked much different—it was not as full as it had been.  As I started to look for the gifts with my name, I was stunned to find that there was now only one—one single box out of what was originally at least ten or more.  I opened the box to find this:

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 I despised the Smurfs. I despised the cartoon show. And I despised this play set.

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I began to cry. After letting me sit there awhile my mom asked me what was wrong.  I told her that I did not like the toy and that I knew that I had far more presents under the tree for me than just that one before, but I no longer saw them.  My mom, with her big beautiful eyes stared directly at me and said,

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“Well, that’s what happens when you count your chickens before they’ve hatched.”

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She gave me a little smirk and a wink, and then walked away.

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Needless to say, I was lost: what on earth was she talking about?  What chickens?? I didn’t ask for chickens for Christmas!! What did she mean by that??!  It wasn’t until later on that day that it dawned on me what had happened—that she had taken all of the other toys away and got me something that she knew I would not like in order to teach me an important lesson about assumption, expectation, appreciation. It was a tough lesson to swallow, but I got it.  It is a lesson that would end up being carried into my adulthood and later on passed along to my own children, in hopes that they will pass it on to their children.

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I spent the rest of the day building my Papa Smurf Loc Blocks Laboratory and playing with it, realizing that it wasn’t so bad after all.

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Thank you Mom, for everything. 

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And from my family to yours:  many wishes for a Holiday season of comfort, joy, and peace.

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Do you have a treasured Christmas memory? Share below or tell me about it at: melisasource@yahoo.com

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