Touched by the Christmas spirit. Not in a creepy way, don't worry.

Surprised by a day off - I thought the temp agency was going to call me for work today but they didn't - which is too bad because, holy crap, I'm unemployed - but it's also good because who really wants to spend a snowy, wintry day stuck in some crappy cubicle at some crappy temp job? I mean, really.

Anyway, since I've some spare time today, I thought I'd tell you the story of how the Christmas spirit touched me this week. It all started this past weekend when my husband and I had a little falling out because I felt like he wasn't taking Christmas seriously enough and he felt like I was being childish. And maybe I was. I don't know. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday and the weeks leading up to it have always been my favorite time of year. In my family, as I imagine in most families, Christmas really is a wonderful celebration of, well, family. And it's not just the 24th and 25th that are special. Weeks before, we gather together to drink eggnog and trim the tree. Even after all of us were grown and had our own trees in our own homes, the trimming of Mama and Papa's tree continues to be a family tradition: A chance for us to joke and laugh and talk about our Christmas wishes and admire all the ornaments that we'd made throughout the years. My parents tree is not draped with store-bought balls and trinkets. No, no. My parents tree is hung full of memories - each ornament has a story, a memory attached. The family Christmas tree, hugged by hundreds of ornaments made by each of us over the last forty some-odd years. Here are egg-shell ornaments made by Nana before any of us kids were born, here are the milkmaids and geese-a-layin' and golden rings made by Mama when her children were babies, here are ornaments made by my brothers and sister when I was still just a glint in Papa's eye, here is the first ornament I made in pre-school, here hangs Sweetie's scarf, here is the glass ball gifted to me by my brother when I was five, here is the little cardboard Santa put on Mama's dinner tray when she was still in the hospital after Trina was born, and it goes on and on, this tree shrouded in the past of my family. 

I am married to a wonderful man who cares deeply about the environment and what Earth will be like for his grand-children. This means that he does not believe in cutting down a tree to put in one's living room for a couple of weeks just so that it can end up in a landfill by January 1st. Then there is the matter of us being Adults with Responsibilities and A Budget and the fact that one of us (me) is Unemployed. So even if he did believe in the cutting down of balsam firs for the holidays, a Christmas tree is not in The Budget. Especially not an environmentally-friendly reusable "fake" tree. And this is largely due to decisions I have made that affect our life, so please do not think I am laying blame. I am not. But as a result, I have been feeling very sad at the absence of Christmas in my life this year - because that's what it's felt like. 

Maybe you, like my husband, think I'm being ridiculous about the whole thing. But in my childhood family tradition, the tree is always at the center of things, like a symbol of the family. It is hard enough to spend such an important day away from my family, but to have to do it without any semblance of the things that make the day special for me? And of course, I left all of my Christmasy things in a box in my parents garage in California, apparently to give myself a reason to feel blue for the holidays. I know, this is a superficial, first-world problem. If this is the worst thing that happens to me all year, I am extremely fortunate. I know. And I try to take comfort in that. Call me ridiculous, but maybe I would be further comforted if I thought my husband felt as strongly about the holiday as I do, because then at least I could believe that we would make our own holiday magic. But instead I think that for him it is really just another day. He's spent more Christmases at work than he has with family, so it doesn't hold the same kind of importance for him. And so I feel very, very alone.

Until last Sunday.

My dear, sweet, wonderful husband went against his beliefs and brought home a Christmas tree. When I walked into the living room Sunday night and was met with the spicy sent of pine and the beautiful tree sitting there, proudly spreading her boughs, I nearly collapsed in a pile of sobs. And he started laughing and wrapped his arms around me and whispered sweet nothings until I was laughing too. And I suddenly realized how silly I've been because I am not separated from my family this Christmas. My childhood family is in my heart and my husband, my chosen family, is right here with his arms around me. It turns out I was all wrong about him - he's thrilled to share the Christmas magic from my childhood and he is eager to make our own memories and traditions. This is our first Christmas as our own little family, just the two of us and our animals. So our first tradition? Crying over the tree. No, no, I kid. We started by making our own special ornaments to hang on the tree. A tradition in my childhood family, and now in my married family. We pulled out my collection of craft supplies and combed the tenement for things that could be turned into ornaments. We dedicated a whole evening to making ornaments. And years from now, our children and grand-children will recognize these ornaments as the ones we made for our very first Christmas alone and together. 'Here is the cork from the bottle of champagne they opened on their wedding day,' they'll say. 'And here is the lacy snow drop Papa Mike made, here is a broken crystal saved from great-great-great Aunt Sue's crystal lamp, here is a wind-up toy from Mama Ish's 2003 Christmas stocking, here is the box of Christmas Cheer that great-Grandmama sent to New York for their first Christmas away from home,' and on and on.

I've been told over and over that it is time for me to grow up and become my own family with my husband. I don't want to have a separate family from the one that I was born into, but I suppose that is the way it works? My parents had to separate from their childhood families in order to create the family that I so treasure. I am just so thankful that I found such a wonderful person to do it with. Not to mention that whenever life leads me back home to California, Christmases spent with my childhood family and my married family all together will be treasured that much more.