The boys are 13. What a poignant age - part man, mostly child. They are taking the lead in family traditions this year – cutting the tree at the Highlands, baking cookies, decorating the house, and even scouring the ads to find presents for their cousins.
We planned to start decorating on Saturday. Ron woke up at six and started to clean the house, Mom’s prerequisite to decorating. I was amazed - another Christmas miracle. They even got the Christmas boxes down from the attic. I just sat back and watched them open the boxes with the joy of discovery as they carefully unwrapped the familiar, yet somehow new, Christmas decorations. They set up the nativity, checked the lights and placed the decorations around the house.
Rick made us homemade blueberry pancakes. I suspect that will become “tradition” by next year.
They were six years old our first Christmas together. I had such plans, or, more accurately, dreams, for the traditions I would start with my new family, blending the traditions from Steve and I with whatever the boys brought with them to their forever home. Of course, I never had kindergarten boys before and I found out that traditions have their own way of being made. At Grandma’s Christmas Eve gathering, she gave them hot wheels, tracks and several power boosters. When I was ready for the family to leave for the candlelight and communion midnight services, the twins and their father had tracks and wheels all over the house. I tried to convince them to leave (not really nagging), but gave up and reveled in the joy of their play.