Happy, Happy Christmas that can win us back the delusions of our childish days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home.
Charles Dickens
Making Christmas candy as a kid was always a delight. As a young girl, I remember Mom helping us make almond joys and pretzels dipped in white chocolate.; rich and creamy, and pecan pies would fill the kitchen as we baked our holiday delights.
Last year, I was working on my Christmas candy to package and give away to friends and family; I was worn out, having already delivered it to Eva’s school and my husband’s work. I felt confident that if I fought hard, I could finish the rest in the next few days. With two little ones, this was a high goal I had set for myself since Christmas candy was not the only thing that held my attention.
As the next few days would have it, if it could go wrong, it did. My soft caramel sweets were liquid, my fudge was grainy, and my rich and creamy was more creamy than rich. With two kids running around, family coming in a few days, arts and crafts, and decorating sugar cookies all on the list, it was apparent I had spread myself too thin and over-exhausted my days.
My grandma makes the best old-fashioned fudge in the world. I wanted so much to make it like she did; instead, I was ruining everything. I decided the best thing I could do at this point was sit down and cry. Trying so hard to do the things my kids would remember, I was overloading the days.
I told my sister about my Christmas candy fiasco, and she said, “Well, Kris, the candy caramels are not ruined. Package it up as homemade caramel sauce instead.” I smiled at the idea. What we see as ruined becomes a treasure over ice cream.
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MAKES A GREAT CHRISTMAS GIFT!
A few days ago, Chuck and the girls visited his mother for Thanksgiving. I stayed close to home since my due date for Tyson was close.
As they pulled out, I got a lump in my throat, and a couple of tears escaped my eyes. I had been looking forward to some quiet time, and now that I had it, I didn’t want them to go. I hid my tears with a smile and waved them down the road.
Walking the dogs down the path next to the creek seemed empty, even with five dogs dipping and diving for the next rock, stick, or squirrel to appear.
Coming back inside, I found everything exactly as I had left it. Immaculate. I found this enjoyable and refreshing. Yet, it came with the absence of busyness from two little girls. I wasn’t so sure that it was worth it.
That evening, a friend at church asked how I had enjoyed my day at home. I leaned in and said, “I cleaned the house in two hours; normally, it takes me a week.” Her laughter only spurred me on with more comments, “It only took me fifteen minutes to eat supper. Time is at my disposal.”
Crawling in bed that evening, I opened my book to read a few pages before sleeping. As I opened the book, I noticed a piece of paper tucked in the crevices of the pages. I opened it. Eva had left me a note that she signed from Charlotte and Eva. The letter let me know how much they loved me and didn’t want me to be sad. She reassured me that they would have a good time at their Nana’s and then hurry home to me. My heart was overwhelmed (of course, I cried again).
It wasn’t the note that made me cry (well, maybe it was) but mainly because they knew exactly where to find me. Eva knew my routine and where I would end my day. My girls, even in their growing, are chasing me. Fears of the future and all my mistakes faded in their desire to remind me how much they loved me.
After an enjoyable Thanksgiving lunch and afternoon conversation with my neighbors, I returned to a neat and tidy home once again. The dogs were anticipating a walk down the path; I obliged without obligation or hesitation.
As darkness crept in, I flipped on the porch light. At about the same time, I saw headlights coming down the road; the truck slowed and turned up the drive. It was a beautiful sight.
Time away from my girls is rare. It is not that Chuck is incapable. He is accommodating and capable; it’s just usually, I am in the middle of all they are doing.
The twenty-four breather did me good, but I decided that as much as I like neatness and completing one single thought, perfect Christmas candy is overrated. Nothing is as enjoyable as my girls screaming and giggling while their daddy pulls them in the wagon up the hill and across the road to unload branches at the burn pile.
I met them at the door with hugs and kisses. Within minutes of their entrance were suitcases, pillows, toys, and bags of stuff down the hallway, in the living room, and on the kitchen counters.
Chuck and I readied the girls for bed, and as they played, I looked around at where I should start. I said, “Would you just look at all this stuff? How is this even possible?” Chuck laughed and helped me get things put away.
The following day, pouring two cups of orange juice took twenty minutes and even longer to grab a couple of spoons for the girl’s oatmeal.
Somehow, I didn’t mind because watching my family come home and hearing their voices come up the stairs tasted as sweet as Christmas candy.
My son, eat honey for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste. Proverbs 24:13
