When we were younger, my Mom always made Christmas larger than life for us. From the coffee can and duct tape packaging, to the Sunday comics wrapping, the entire experience was surreal and memorable. As an adult now, I would classify our Christmases as magical and ever-changing; hard to duplicate. The woman who was proud of purchasing foods only if she had had a coupon and it was on sale, was never shy about spending money on each of us, equally. If I remember correctly, Christmas splendor was one of the reasons why she went back to work. Anyways, apparently the boys always wanted larger more expensive items and so to be sure she spent the same amount of money on me, she would always include some tchotchke items to even the score. Oh, and her thing was also the amount of presents, more on that at a later time. But yes, my mom wanted to give the best experience to my brothers and I, wanting us to enjoy all that Christmas had to offer.

To my Mother, decorating our home was a craft. She did not wait to decorate until the traditional 12-days before Christmas Day (or so I had always thought that was how “normal” families did it). Often times our Christmas-loving-Mother decorated while Dad took us around for Halloween Trick-Or-Treating. She was crazy. Crazy in love with the festive season and the sheer joy it brought to her. And her desire to share that joy with us, Sunday comics wrapping paper and all. (NOTE: I did this for my children for several years but it just wasn’t the same.) Mom loved the snowmen nestled in their beds for a long winter’s nap and quiet popcorn/movie nights with her children, not the cold brutal winters that I remember often experiencing in Michigan.

Anyways, Christmas-time was always made special by her and I am forever grateful for her planning and the great memories we made as a family. The comics? Who would have thought, so smart and thrifty, right? But so sad. See, sometimes duplication is so very hard when that thing to be duplicated can not be matched, like the hours and hours of wrapping that happened in her room all while she, Diana, Bing, and Helen harmonized perfectly for all in the house to hear. It was an event that involved countless rolls of Scotch and duct tape, and much joy. I loved those days and remember them fondly. So special that my brothers and I were able to experience that awesome-ness that she brought to us every December, I mean, October 31st.

“It will be like Christmas,” Sharon said to me on the phone a few days ago referring to my shipment delivery tomorrow morning. Yes, a big day ahead for me, it is 11:30pm and still working on my first post. Tomorrow I will open 120+ boxes from our much anticipated 2014 storage shipment and it will be like, a reunion, I guess. A reunion of me and the stuff that I obviously did not care enough about to bring with me and not keep in storage for what we had assumed would be a 10-year hiatus. We move away to China in 2014 and ten years later (however many countries thereafter) we move to Cleveland, where we had always assumed we would eventually call “home” once again. Yah, a Christmas, of sorts, like that box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.

According to Shirley’s manifest, there are boxes and boxes of what is listed as “Decorations.” No doubt those boxes and boxes are my overwhelming amount of Christmas decorations. Many of which I only now remember owning after looking through old photos last night to show my son his dresser that we also went into storage. Interesting how when I showed him the dresser he thought I was joking as it really is a tiny furniture piece. But, realistically, the last time he saw it was when he was 6-years old so makes sense it seemed much bigger. Ha. Also, Andrew is now 5’9″ and in High School, at 6-years old he was only 3′ something and barely in Elementary School. It’s all good. He will be glad to have it back in his room again, regardless of the fact that it is actually baby furniture.

Today while I had some extra time on my hands, I walked through the Home Goods store just to see what I might want to buy. Ha. Now, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular as I have more than enough “Decorations” on their way to my house in a short 10-hours. But rather I had no kids in tow so a little browsing wouldn’t do any harm providing I keep the credit cards in my wallet. So that 20-minutes in the store brought back fond memories of my many trips to Kohl’s, browsing (like window shopping, that word feels so empty and unfulfilling) through all the seasonal decorations. I would undoubtedly fall for the Kohls’ “For every $25 spent, get $5 in Kohls Cash” or something to that effect. Anyways, like Cathy, I would wait to purchase that stuff until it was 1) on sale and 2) I would receive some sort of rewards or Kohls Cash for it. Buy buy buy. I fell into the consumer trap.

And really, the fact that I don’t remember exactly (or nearly exactly) what is in that storage unit after 8-years of being stored away, un-loved, un-played with, and un-appreciated, I am saddened. After recent years of downsizing, clutter-free-ing my home, removing my attachment to so many items in my life, and trying to live more intentionally, tomorrow may just be a bust of a day for me. Who knows. Maybe I will find some treasures – actually, I just now remember the African Tribal masks I bought from TJ Maxx in, say, 2008. The tag said the masks were from Ghana but hmmmm were they really? I am so suspect of everything these days. Anyways, in 1998, when we spent 2-weeks in Zimbabwe with my brother (who had been serving in the Peace Corps) I had purchased a mask from a street vendor. Now THAT was authentic, and I have the proof, grainy assed pictures, y’all. Admittedly, they were top-knotch quality for the time. Alright, so these masks from TJ Maxx that I had purchased to create a full set of African masks, may or may not actually have been from Ghana, but they will do. No stories for me to tell from my US-mask purchases, but many a story can be told about that street vendor experience. Sadly, at this point, 8-years later, who’s to say exactly which one I purchased in Zimbabwe and those from the USA. Perhaps I will take a squint at my graining pictures from years ago.

Well, there you have it. Maybe I will open a bottle of wine after the truck leaves, or just pour a couple shots of Bailey’s in my all-day coffee. Either option would be quite enjoyable.

Another memory. My older brother and I both had a rocking chair. Cute, small, perfect seat for little butts. Those are both in storage, each of which I have rocking baby photos of my children. Also, my cedar chest filled with childhood memorabilia and Scott’s homemade chest which houses his great collection of glass Coke bottles. I won’t tell my son about that just yet. Let that be a “Christmas” moment for him. I am looking forward to that. Also those Christmas decorations, both of my children will LOVE my old decorations; my carefully chosen holly / pine garland will be hung up & down the handrail, and my 2′ Old Style Santa will be placed near the mantle. Dang, it will be like Christmas, huh?

My heart is singing.