I officially packed up Christmas yesterday. The snowmen are still smiling around the house, but the tree is out and the Santa hats have been packed away until next year.
The whole family helps with the decorating, but I undecorate alone--by choice. Every decoration we have is a memory, and I love reliving those with the kiddos every year. They love unboxing their collections of Nana ornaments and finding just the right spot for the little kitten from Aunt Beth. We remember family vacations as we hang the ornaments on the tree, and I tell stories of students who have given me decorations knowing how much I love the season.
When I pack up, though, I enjoy a quieter nostalgia. I chuckle at Evan's baseball ornament from the year he was so excited to finally be old enough to play only to discover he really doesn't like baseball. I smile at the tiny faces smiling back at me in daycare ornaments, covered in glitter and tiny fingerprints. I hold ornaments that belonged to my grandmothers a little longer, picturing their trees and holidays in their homes. I wonder where some of those students are now. Inevitibly I cry, but it's not from grief or sadness. Somehow packing up inspires an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the life I've been gifted. So many memories and so much love is captured in the season's decorations, and I never, ever want to take that for granted.
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