Remember This: Christmas 2022 Edition

A couple of weeks ago when the kids got sick and everything was canceled—childcare! Thanksgiving! a magical weekend away at Half Moon Bay!—my entire family basically morphed into vegetables rotting in front of the television for four whole days. 

I like to rot in front of the TV as much as the next person, but at some point my Enneagram 3-ness kicks into gear and I start to crave productivity. However, when it’s cold outside and everyone is sick and nobody else is working because it’s a holiday weekend, even I have a hard time mustering up the energy to tackle a to-do list. 

So I decided to tackle one of my least-favorite-but-totally-necessary tasks: backing up photos. 

Oy vey. As a professional photographer, you’d think I’ve have a solid system in place. And I do, kind of, but it’s so easy to fall behind when you take something like 400 photos a month between your phone, your DSLR, your film scans, and your new mirrorless camera that you’re still learning how to use. I’ve got memory cards and files and folders galore, and every time I finally sit down to get organized, it takes exactly 30 seconds for me to start spiraling. 

I start thinking of how I don’t print photos often enough, how I’m behind on memory boxes, how I haven’t written in the kids’ Promptly Journals for over two years. I start thinking of how I never finished Presley’s baby book. And how she said something hilarious yesterday, but I didn’t write it down, and now I already forgot. Something about penguins? I start thinking about how I have email accounts for all of the kids, but can’t remember the last time I sent them a note. I start thinking of how much time I spend writing stories for strangers on the Internet, and how I should be writing to my children instead.

Like I said, the spiral happens fast. 

In some ways, I think the compulsive need to document All The Things is a relatively new pressure for the mothers of this generation. Once upon a time, moms captured an entire trip to Disneyland on a single roll of Kodak film. 36 images across two whole days at Disney. Can you even imagine?! They got the film developed at the drugstore, stuck the pictures in a photo album they bought at JC Penny, and called it good enough.

Anyway. I don’t know what the point of this is, other than to say memory-keeping is on my mind, and so, while I’m thinking about it—this is Christmas 2022, and here’s what I want to remember:

Everett

Everett is ten years old, and we call him our real life Buddy the Elf because he is enthusiastic about Christmas in a way the other two children are not. He started begging for Christmas music on November 1st. He asked us no less than 18 times when we were going to get a Christmas tree. He wants nothing more than for every nook and cranny of this house to be decorated to the nines. The day we finally got a tree and hung the ornaments, I made my way around the house restyling bookshelves with Christmas knick-knacks and candles. At one point I found Everett adding to the decor I had placed along the top of the piano. 

“Mom, is it okay if I add these pine cones?” he asked. 

I said yes and stood there in amusement watching him carefully place seven gold pine cones along the fairy lights and garland.

One night last week I spotted Everett in his room cutting snowflakes out of white printer paper at his desk. The juxtaposition of his lanky body in a tiny chair, combined with the fact that he was listening to Christmas lofi beats in his headphones while working diligently on a craft for no apparent reason other than he genuinely wanted to … all of it broke my heart into a thousand pieces, in the way motherhood simply breaks your heart sometimes. 

Later that same night, I heard him rattling around in drawers and cabinets, searching for clothespins, asking where he could find some hooks. 

An hour later, he walked into my bedroom and said, “Do you want to see what I made?”

I wandered into his room to the sight of a handmade snowflake banner hanging from his bunk bed to the window. He was so proud. I don’t ever want to forget that.

Carson

Something you should know about Carson is that he would give you the shirt off his back 365 days a year. Call me biased, but I’m pretty sure his selflessness and generosity are unheard of for most kids his age (eight). If he gets candy at school, he climbs straight into the car and offers some to his brother. He plays with his sister around the clock, giving her time and attention when no one else can. I have just recently started paying him a little bit of money to “babysit” Presley when I need 30-60 minutes of uninterrupted time. He obliges every time, making up games for them to play together, helping her get in and out of the trampoline, preparing snacks. 

“I would play with her even if you didn’t pay me,” he always reminds me. 

I know, I tell him.

Carson is what you call a cheerful giver. He never gives out of obligation, but pure desire. Which is why it came as no surprise that the second we started talking about Christmas, Carson asked when someone could take him to Target to purchase gifts for his siblings. We got the kids their own debit cards earlier this year, and every so often they can earn money through special chores like washing the car, or the aforementioned babysitting gigs.

One afternoon, after much begging, I finally relent and take Carson to Target. He wants to spend a small fortune on Presley, which I talk him out of, nudging him toward cheaper options like a coloring kit and small pack of princess bath bombs. When it’s time to choose a gift for Everett, Carson tells me he wants to buy Everett LEGOS. I immediately try to convince him otherwise. What about candy? A book? Something cheaper? He shakes his head. He knows the way to Everett’s heart. It has to be LEGOS. We find a small set for $24. And even though he is willing, and even though he has the funds in his bank account, I cannot bear the thought of Carson spending that much of his own money on a gift for his brother. At the same time, I also know how much it means to him, to be able to give this gift. I offer to split it with him. He pays $12 and I cover the rest. 

When we walk out of the store, he is grinning ear to ear, plastic bag in hand. We make a plan on where we will hide the gifts, and I help him wrap them a few days later. He signs the tags and places the gifts under the tree, giddy with anticipation for his siblings to open the gifts he picked out and paid for himself. 

Presley

What can I even say about this girl? She is walking, portable joy. Everything is magic to her. The tree. The lights. The gifts. The stockings. She oooohs and ahhhhs over every little thing, and it’s not lost on me that we have very few Christmases left seeing this level of magic through her eyes. When we asked what she wanted for Christmas, she had exactly two requests: a pretend phone, and Frozen LEGOS. 

We don’t make a big deal about Santa in our house, but she must have picked up on it from preschool or the various Christmas movies we’ve seen, because she mentions him at least once a day. 

I can’t wait to see Santa. 

I can’t believe Santa is coming to our house!

How does he fit in the chimney?

I hope he doesn’t get burned! 

Her offering this Christmas is a bunch of her own toys packaged in Magna Tiles. She has carefully selected gifts for each of us (something random from her bedroom), and built a magnetic house around each item as a “present.” 

All of her gifts are under the tree, alongside the real ones. 

On Christmas morning, all of us will play along, taking turns opening our magnetic boxes with a gasp. Presley, you shouldn’t have! We will pull out a tiny princess doll, a hot wheels car, a plastic banana, a tea cup. We will say thank you and pull her into a hug and she will beam and beam and beam, beyond proud of her contributions.

There will always be photos I forget to take, stories I never write, hilarious things my children say that I won’t bother writing down.

But for now, for today, I’m glad I took the time to write and remember all of this.