The True Meaning of Christmas II

DSC09334_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

And yet another example of what Christmas is all about!

The True Meaning of Christmas

DSC09062_edited-1, originally uploaded by Porkbone.

This picture give me tears of pleasure! It's my son and his little girl out looking for a Christmas Tree to take home.

I am back now from my 6 days with my son and daughter-in-law and wonderful granddaughter, Ali. My brain is full of sounds and images I hope not to lose. Most of the sounds are Alison’s. I asked Michael to play the “what’s this” game with me and to everything I answered “dah-ee” so he could understand how Ali answered that question almost every time. I love the sounds she made that went along with the slap on the floor to indicate where her companion was supposed to sit—the singing sounds when she was playing on her own—the food appreciation noises. I should have brought a recording device for all of them, though I doubt I’ll forget them any time soon.

The images will remain clear for a very long time. The sign for “more”, the sign for “I’m hungry”, the dancing and swaying to the many songs that came from her toys, her beautiful curling golden hair, her sparkling blue eyes. She would race like a demon from one end of the living room to the kitchen, back and forth, accompanying herself with squealing and giggles. She and Daddy would play a game after dinner, slapping their hands down on the table and highchair tray. Ali would often take the lead and try to fool her Daddy—laughing in delight when she was able to fake him out by putting her hand somewhere else. I have been demonstrating the “sad face” to people—Ali’s fake sad face is a riot. She tried to get us to think she was upset and then she’d laugh and clap her hands at the joke. Am I biased to think that most 19-month old children don’t know hot to make jokes yet?

I mentioned the songs from the toys. It seems 80% of toys these days have buttons to push that result in noises or songs or both. If a child has a Leap Pad, as Ali does, there are 5 or 6 songs on every page of the story. One of Ali’s favorite toys, her barn, has animal sounds when gates are opened or animals sit in their pens. It also includes a peppy song. To all of these songs, Ali dances, whether she’s sitting, kneeling or standing. Her favorite song is the elephant’s song in one of her Leap Pad books and she’s precociously learned how to change the tempo from very fast to very slow, with a sway for the slow and a bounce for the fast. She skips all the other pages to get to that one where her fingers quickly press the necessary spots on the page to get to the desired song.

I think I could write pages and pages about what I watched Ali do. I spent five days just watching and playing with her all day—the 6th day we went to the Mall of America to visit Santa Claus. Irene had been preparing for days to get Ali ready for this occasion. Last year, when she was 7 months old, they got a good, grinning picture before she realized there was a strange bearded man behind her. This year she’s much more aware so prep work was necessary. There was a copy of the picture with Santa from last year and talk about what nice a fellow he was. While standing in line Mommy showed Ali what Santa was doing with the other kids. Mind you, this is not one of those scruffy Santa’s with a phony beard and junky red-velveteen coat and pants. This Santa has his own pretty white hair and curly beard, wears flannel Christmas print shirts, velvet pants with suspenders, candy-striped socks. He is the picture of what we all think Santa should be. He has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve, too. He managed to get everyone before Ali to smile and laugh with his shenanigans.

When Ali’s turn came her Mommy put her in the little rocking chair and Santa crept up behind her. None of the squeaky toys or silliness from the photographer could drag a smile from her. She was very seriously skeptical. When she finally put two and two together and turned to see who was behind her it was all over. There is a picture, above, and Santa is very animated in it, but Ali is as deadpan as it gets.

Pages and pages could be written…I have to say that my son and daughter in law continue to be exemplary parents. They have established routines that are workable. They feed Ali good food; make sure she gets enough rest. They stimulate her mind. They tell her they love her. She is an incredibly bright and happy child whose unhappy faces are mostly jokes!

Thanksgiving is a complicated little holiday for me. It’s been good, it’s been awful, sometimes I have ridden home crying and asking why I have the family that I do. Mom cooked for many years and then when she became awfully tired of doing it we began to share the day. Now I do it all myself. I remember:

The Thanksgiving when I was 16 and went to dinner at my boyfriend’s house. My folks were stunned and hurt.

The Thanksgivings that Dad and my brothers barely said a civil word to each other.

The Thanksgivings when the “football” game would compete with dinner.

The cold mashed potatoes at almost every Mom-prepared Thanksgiving.

Wondering what mood brother, Dan, would present this year.

The year brother, Stanley, brought homemade biscuits, carried in his drum.

The Thanksgiving in Tracyton when Mom invited two Argentinian young men to our meal.

The Thanksgiving I rebelled against the idea of doing all the cooking myself and decided to buy dinner pre-made from the store. The gravy was gray and too salty, the string bean casserole was overcooked, the pie was…..store bought.

The Thanksgivings my Dad choked up over the personal prayer he said before the meal.

The first Thanksgiving dinner I prepared as a young married woman.

The years when we wouldn’t let Dad say a real prayer and we all just said “grace”.

The pressure as a kid to find something “to be thankful for” because we would be asked.

The first Thanksgiving after my Dad died. Brother, Dan, did all the puns and told obvious jokes Dad would have told, in his honor.

The Thanksgiving when Stanley started coughing after dinner and fainted.

The Thanksgiving in Ventura, CA. It was just not right for it to be so sunny and warm!

The tiny Thanksgivings we have had since my brother, Dan, died in 2003.

The delicious birds, dressings, salads, pies I’ve gobbled over the years.

The extremely full feeling that I have just before I decide there’s just a little bit of room left for pumpkin pie with whipped cream.

And all the wonderful turkey sandwiches with, cranberry sauce, mayonnaise and lettuce!

Thanksgivings are quieter now. The two volatile members of the family are gone and it’s just we 4 left. We eat the fabulous dinner that took all day to make in ten minutes, quickly savoring the moist turkey and the gravy on the dressing and mashed potatoes. We tease Mom because she doesn’t finish her salad or her peas. We play games or watch a cute movie after dinner and then we eat that pie. I have come to terms with cooking the dinner by myself and find myself enjoying the entire day now. I even let Mom say grace over the food we are about to partake. And I am always thankful for something.