Christmas at Our House, Warm Memories
I'm not sure what it is about this year, maybe it's my kids' ages or my age, but I'm feeling very nostalgic this year. I've been forcing my children to listen to the albums from my childhood, songs like Christmas at Our House by Barbara Mandrell, Breath of Heaven by Amy Grant, and Christmas Like a Lullaby by John Denver. Listening to those songs instantly takes me back to all the chaos, excitement, and memories of twenty years ago (does that mean I'm old?). For today's post, I'm hoping you'll indulge me as I walk through Christmas of yesteryear.
My parents have been married for thirty-six years and have a strong marriage, but for some reason, Christmas highlights their differences, at least in my memories. My mom is an organized, type-A woman with a plan and a gift-giving matrix. When we were kids, her list, and sometimes her buying, was done before Thanksgiving many years. On the contrast, my dad's shopping was often done Christmas Eve. I have some very warm memories of madly dashing through stores to do last minute buying. Sometimes, my dad would randomly pick up a gift for one of us kids (not necessarily on Christmas Eve) and throw my mom's entire matrix and plan into chaos.
During December, both parents made cut out cookies with their kids. When mom was a work and dad was in charge, we'd spend the day making a huge, chaotic mess with all five kids in the kitchen. After making a batch of dough without a recipe and climbing over each other to cut out the cookies, Dad would start flinging frosted cookies on our plates for us to decorate. Making the cookie look nice was not the goal- instead we threw sprinkles on it as quickly as possible and moved on to the next one. There was flour, frosting, and colored sugar everywhere! Dad always had the kitchen cleaned up and often dinner started/made before my mom came home.
When it was mom's turn to make cookies with us, she put on a movie and called us into the kitchen one at a time. Everything was neat and orderly. I learned how to use the back of the knife to level off the measuring cup (not that I ever do that now) and sift the flour to make it fluffy. We wore an apron, washed our hands a lot, and took turns.
After both batches of cookies were done, we took a huge bowl of them in the car and drove through the city to look at Christmas lights. It was always so magical to see how even traffic lights blinked a festive red and green. We'd see Santa's going down chimneys and blow up snowmen, sleighs filled with presents and babes in mangers. As we rode along, eating cookies and talking about what we had seen, we also sang Christmas songs. I remember a lot of Rudolph.
Christmas at our house
Some things have changed
Faces and numbers have rearranged
Giggles of children
Staying up late
I'd say old Santa has gained some weight
Mama's baking in the kitchen
Daddy's chopping firewood
Raisin cookies I'm still snitching
Christmas is good
Reaching out to help a neighbor
That's the way is always was
We knew Jesus our Savior
Christmas at our house still does
Christmas at our house is love
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