Oh What A Night!

This morning I awoke with My Favoritest's alarm. I showered and was ready for the day before anyone else in the house woke up. I spent a little time taking some pictures of our elf Murphy's latest activities. She had carefully hung our stockings on the mantle, complete with toule and twinkling lights.

The presents were wrapped under the tree. Doodle's gifts for everyone were chosen with care and lovingingly wrapped with lots of tape and a crumpling technique. Just above her packages were a cluster of ornaments received in the mail the day before. As I focused my lens, I smiled to myself thinking that this is what our Christmas celebration is about.

 

And then I walked to the back of the living room and took a few snapshots of the whole room. And as the Hanukkah decorations and Christmas tree filled the viewfinder, I was so at peace with our whole holiday celebration this year. And not too long after, Doodle woke up and the house started to hum with the noise of my family.

Our day went as most days go. Bubbie and Zayde took Doodle ot a movie. Sadie (who's new nickname is TerrorTot) refused to give in to her exhaustion and wouldn't nap. My Favoritest came home early from work. Dinner was in the crock pot. All in all life was good. I was picking things up around the house, when I caught a wiff of burnt. I made the oven, stove, toaster circut and then headed to the laundry room. Calling for my Favoritest, we quickly realized the smell was in fact the dryer. As I pulled some clothes out, a big billow of smoke came with it and I saw bright orange in the back of the dryer. We called 911, grabbed the baby and the dogs and got out of the house. And we stood in the driveway as snow flurries spit out of the sky and watched smoke billow out of the window. Hearing the sirens grow louder and praying they got there before too much damage was done.

 

To our great relief and amazement, "they" were four firetrucks filled with volunteer firefighters. On Christmas Eve! There were no less than 15 heros on our lawn and in our house.

The fire was real, but thankfully small.

 

The real damage was only to the laundry room.

The house and everything in it smells of burnt stuff. The fire inspector told us it wasnt safe to sleep there, so while our gracious neigbors ordered pizza and entertained my kids and parents, I called the insurance company and My Favoritest and I gathered some things from the house and we headed to the hotel.

One trip to Target, one trip to the gas station store, and 2 more trips to our house and we are settled in a 2 room suite. And as I sit here typing this, I hear the hum of the power screw driver as Zayde builds a shopping cart for TerrorTot's Santa gift. My Favoritest is crunching wrapping paper and he's doing it just for me, so my morning is special. My babies are nestled snug in their beds/newly purchased pack and play.

The presents are stacked around our beautiful red tinsle tree

The stockings are resting in the hotel easy chair.

 

All six of us are in our matching jammies (which were spared from the stench) that we opened together! And although it is far from the image I had of our Christmas Eve, my family is safe and together and we are finding joy in our traditions and making more! I hope this finds you with those you love, laughing together!

 

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Shiny and Bright

Both of my grandmothers died the year I was ten. Within 6 months of each other. At 34, the memories are harder to remember. My maternal grandmother, Grandma Mantel, spent winters with us, and I knew her better. She was part of my every day life for months at a time. When she died, I chose to take some small figurines that were on display in the room we always slept in when visiting her in Chicago. Those figurines still find special places in my house, even though they are broken, and chipped, and never quite go with anything. They are a solid link to a memory. My paternal grandmother, Grandma Rupright, was less of a physical presence in our lives. She lived in Indiana, and we lived in Georgia. We visited each summer for a week. I remember snippets of our visits and of her. Being coated in bubble slime on the front drive, ice cream in gallon buckets in the garage freezer, playing with my cousin, walking down the gravel driveway. Holiday packages filled with "nuts and bolts" and divinity. I know she loved us with every fiber of her being, but she was not keen on travel and so our visits were few and far between. When she died, she donated her body to science and there was only a memorial service when her remains were returned almost a year later. I didn't choose anything from her home to remember her by. I have several dishes and beautiful tea set that my mother passed along to me, but nothing that I had a memory of.
About a week ago, my Aunt Jane called me out of the blue. She said she had some of Grandma's Christmas tree ornaments that she has held on to all these years. She asked if I would like to have some of them. Before I could tell her yes, tears were streaming down my cheeks. Not because I remembered the ornaments (we never spent Christmas at their house), or because I had always wanted them (I didn't have a Christmas tree until My Favoritest), but because they were hers. They were a link to a woman who is fading from my memories. They were a link for my father to his childhood. They were something that could be passed to my daughters should they have tress of their own some day. I was thrilled at the thought of them hanging on our tree.
Today I arrived home to a package on the front step. When I saw the return address on the box, I couldn't wait to open the box. Carefully wrapped in styrofoam peanuts, bubble wrap, and more styrofoam, were eight delicate, scratched, colorful, priceless ornaments. And as I held them each up and looked at them, I couldn't help but imagine a Christmas tree in my granparents livingroom and the bright beauties being hung lovingly by my Grandma Rupright. I hope that if she is looking down on me, she knows that a piece of her holiday tradition has found its way into my home.

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