Memories collected in stitches: A Christmas stocking tale

And one stocking knit by mama makes four.  A {10+ hour} labor of love, of following patterns and making up my own. Every year I’ll notice the imperfections and remember the hours I spent counting stitches and how I learned to turn a heel {sounds like a dance move} and decrease for a toe.  We’ll remember my adoration of all things mustard yellow and grey, of bows and buttons.  Maybe, she’ll share those too or maybe not.

It’s unlike anything else, just like her and adds a crazy splash of bright, glowing spunk to our family lineup, just as she does.  I studied it late last night as I knit the last stitch, and it puzzles me and it delights me.  I’ve come to learn those are the best kind of creations, but something I could never explain. Maybe you understand.

To knit a stocking is something I’ve always wanted to do and I love that the first one is for her, my girl, on her first Christmas.

I see them all together, the ones we bought our first year as husband and wife (I didn’t know how to knit back them), the one I sewed for our boy from an old sweater and scraps, on our first Christmas as parents, and now…

our first as four.

Is that the reason for the timeless activity, do we knit to create a place for our memories to live?

Do you have a story about your own Christmas stockings? Please tell me.

Calm and Bright

Last December was our first winter in this land of wintry oppression, known to the greater United States of America as Minnesota.  At this time last year, we were already six weeks buried under countless feet of snow. I think six weeks is the perfect length for winter, incase anyone wanted to take note of that this time around, ahem.  I was also supremely large with child, only eight weeks to go, eager and anxious.  The day after Christmas our car died and we were carless for two months.  Matt was still working two jobs (still is) and relying on the bus system, which took extra hours away from us and meant he faced frigid and inhumane temperatures. And our new baby cried for the first four months of her life.  It was a long winter, literally and figuratively.

Today, I look outside my window and only a light dusting of the second snowfall remains cast upon the brown earth. On most days, I feel like I’ve got a handle on this whole two kids gig, at least 85% of the day.  We’ve implemented a system that includes me leaving the house one afternoon a week all by myself.  No errands, no demands, just a few hours of remembering what it was like to sit in a coffee shop at leisure.  My husband gets an afternoon too, because he needs that time just as much as I do.  It’s the best thing we ever done.  Every night, I’m free writing (morning pages as known in The Artist’s Way).  It’s a season of abundant creativity and I’m so thankful.  On a regular basis, I have tea with a friend and the most encouraging and inspiring conversations, while our kids play. We started a small business this year, and we just completed our first custom family Christmas card.  We’re getting to be part of helping friends grow their families.  We’re investing in a dream that no longer seems far away, as we hold a large stack of printed cards in our hand. On the back, our own names where you’d usually find another.  We’re seeing provisions come in the most unexpected ways.  Last night, we stood in the kitchen at a very late, sleepy hour and acknowledged this first major milestone with Furthermore Creative.  And today, when I paid the last bills of the month, I didn’t grimace or sigh.  There was enough.  Because, he is enough.

I’m knitting a stocking for my baby girl, it will be her first Christmas and my first knit stocking. Today, during her nap, we strung popcorn on a thread to hang on the tree. Mostly, my helper ate the popcorn and sipped hot cocoa, heavy on the marshmallows. And tonight, the evening is ours. We’ll tuck our babies into bed at a ridiculously early hour (because it’s already dark and we love them and our time alone) and catch up on our favorite Thursday shows, that we always watch on Friday nights, by the light of the fire and this week, the peaceful glow of that silly little tree in the corner.

I think of the words, “All is calm, all is bright.” and I wonder if the calm is more than a description of the manager scene. Is it also an offering of thanksgiving, a story of peace and contentment, an acknowledgement of love and hope? I think, maybe yes.

All is calm. All is bright.

Mixed and Matched and Magical

Woke up the a world frosted in snow, must be December.  It adds a little something to the bare spiny trees.  I love bare spiny trees, but you knew that.  Last night, we bought our Christmas tree, a small one again, because of the baby Godzilla who lives in our home.  A tree skirt would be ripped off in 2.5 seconds.  I daresay she might just try to scale that evergreen if it was on her level. 

We bought the cheapo stand our first year and every year since, that darling man has declared in exasperation how we must get a better tree stand next year.  We never do.  Maybe that’s what he wants for Christmas?  After busting out the drill and some twine, our stand is secured, but I wouldn’t bet my life that it won’t probably fall.  That darling, she’s a force to be reckoned with,  behind those beautiful, sparkly eyes.

It’s small, of course, and maybe a cousin of the Charlie Brown variety, but I love it, imperfect things have a way of sneaking into my heart and creating cozy memories.  Is perfect a  real achievable thing after all? Because a baby was on the floor discovering a strand of white lights for the first time and  we were pulling all the ornaments out of the shoe boxes, remembering all over again.  We listened to Perry Como and Frank Sinatra croon their carols. Hudson cried hysterically that the wooden Santa train, boat, and plane were not toys, but then he got to decide where they went and all was well. He picked them out last year, as our tradition goes of buying a handful of new ornaments every December.  Always remember to write the year on the bottom so that 80 years down the road we’ll know, but I could tell you right now the story behind each one.  The items topped with string, wooden and shiny, a tiny collection built each year, just like our family, our love, and our dreams.

And you better believe there is no pre-determined color scheme, just the one of life.

Mixed and matched and magical.