It's Christmas Eve. The kids, 17, are with their mom, as they have been over the past few years. But, tonight feels different. It feels transitional. It is their last year as 'children' and the whole mystery and adventure died out years ago. The experience of the holidays in general continues, include getting a tree, decorating the house, and listening to traditional music. That will never die out. But tonight, more than ever before, it struck how throughout these years, memories were made that will be treasured always, even though they've passed.
Staying up late, assembling a bike or a dollhouse or some other complicated task with visual step-by-step instructions to guide me, getting barely a few hours of sleep, being awakened before dawn by the kids squeals of excitement and anticipation, foggily rising to watch the carnage unfold and then staggering half-awake towards the coffee machine. All that's behind me, and although at the time it could be a challenge and draining, remembering it brings nothing but a smile to my face. As is the case for so many aspects of being a parent, it's something I'd love to go back and do over with more awareness as to how fleeting the time will be.
Now, next week, I'm going to send it back to my brother, so he can read to his youngest grandchildren while he has the opportunity to do so before they get too much older, then he's said he'll return it to me again so my son and daughter might carry the tradition forward with their own kids somewhere down the road.
It's been through two generations now. Let the third generation begin. My hope is that it'll circulate between our kids and their kids throughout the years to come. Let's see how many generations this book, and tradition, can survive.