The 1995 Christmas season was in full swing. The beautifully decorated tree sat as a sentinel before our living room picture window. Cookies, breads, and cakes were baked, and gift plates were assembled, ready to be distributed to family and friends. Beds were made with fresh linens, and clean towels hung in the bathrooms, awaiting holiday guests. Strains of the Tabernacle Choir, Johnny Mathis, and the Statler Brothers filled the air with Christmas music. Neatly wrapped packages had been placed under the tree.
I was exhausted but content that this would be a Christmas to remember filled with smiling faces, laughter, and delight—a Christmas we would never forget. And I was right. I have never forgotten that Christmas—but not for the reasons mentioned above.
One day, a couple of weeks before Christmas, a friend dropped by, and as we talked, she mentioned something about tampons and Christmas trees. It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t question her. We said our goodbyes, and I went about my day preparing for the glorious holiday just around the corner.
Christmas morning dawned, and five energetic children rushed up the stairs to see what Santa had brought them. They ripped open the carefully wrapped packages amidst laughter and squeals of delight. There were a few squabbles, but they all settled down once their tummies were full of Christmas morning cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and warm wassail punch.
We took the tree down on New Year’s Day—a tedious task I have never enjoyed. When we finished putting away the ornaments from the living side of the tree, we moved to the picture window side of the tree. And then, my friend’s tampon/Christmas tree comment made perfect sense. The side of the tree, clearly visible from the street, was covered with bright white tampons hanging by their long blue cords. I was mortified!
We questioned each of the older boys, but no one knew how those decorations had ended up on the tree. And, thankfully, they weren’t aware of what those baubles were. My husband and I were baffled . . . until three-year-old Emily excitedly explained she had found a box of Christmas tree decorations under my bathroom sink. Ah, that’s what all those cellophane wrappers were. She was so proud of her contribution to our beautiful tree. We hugged her and thanked her. Then, we told her that Christmas tree decorations didn’t belong under the bathroom sink. She giggled, hugged us, and went to play with her Christmas treasures.
I can’t remember all of the details of that Christmas, but it is a Christmas I will never forget.
#storieswithcharlene #christmas #leaveyourlegacy