by Phyllis McCrossin

It’s Saturday, a week before Christmas. The King and I are waiting for our grandsons to come for another overnight visit.

This is their father’s week to have them. He and his new girlfriend had some type of outing planned and could not find a babysitter. It was our daughter who asked if we would mind babysitting.

I guess it is called divorce 2021-style. To be honest, it’s better than being bitter.

We have some activities planned. A couple weeks ago the boys and I collected pine cones from the campground where we were staying. I have a huge bag of them, some fake holly and berries, lots of glue sticks for glue guns and some forms for making wreaths. It will be our afternoon project. They can give them as gifts to their mom and other grandmother. (Yes, we are still friends with our daughter’s ex-mother-in-law). We are all just one big happy family.

There will also be s’mores by the campfire, hot dogs, playground time and I’ll read “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets” to them before bed. It will take the entire six months we are here to get through the book.

Last year I read them “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” while we were visiting. At a book a visit, they will be 13 before we are done. I doubt at 13 they will still want Grandma to read to them, I am realistic after all.

These will be our holiday traditions. They are definitely different from the traditions we had with our children, and very different from those of my youth.  But I don’t know that traditions carry on from one generation to the next any longer. Time moves swiftly.

Our granddaughter, who lived with us for many years, told me the other day she never fully appreciated how much work went into getting ready for Christmas.

“You made it appear so easy,” she said.  “I miss our traditions.”

Well, dear child, you need to make your own traditions. Do the things you want to do to make the holiday special to you. Don’t try to emulate what we did, find your own joy – even if it’s silly.

I recall the year my younger sister and I went into the woods and cut down our own little pine tree for the barn. Yes, we were teens and we knew there was no Santa, but we put a tree in the barn anyway.

We even decorated it with dog bones. Dad managed Dog Life in Hamilton so we always had a plethora of baked bone-shaped dog biscuits. We left a note for Santa on the kitchen table and told him to help himself to the oats for the reindeer. We even left a few carrots on top of the grain bin.

Dad went out to the barn later that night and fed the carrots to the horses. I think we did it the following year as well. It was silly, but it brings a smile to my face even today.

Enjoy the holiday, however you celebrate it.