A Broken Bulb (Guest Post!)

By the time you start reading this post, I will be on an airplane somewhere in this great big United States on my way to California to bring my husband HOME! Several weeks ago I asked for a few volunteers to Guest Blog for me while I was gone to Cali and for the few days immediately following our return to Alabama. The response was overwhelming, but I lined up a great group of ladies to entertain you while I’m away!

Today, Kimberly from All Work and No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something [whew! It’s a mouthful but her blog is fabulous!] has a great post about the Spirit of Christmas and how important the tiny things are. This post made me smile simply because I can identify with her Christmas Tree description…but you’ll just have to read on to understand why!

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My Christmas tree has no color scheme or a particular theme and isn’t worthy enough to grace the pages of a Martha Stewart magazine. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure that my Christmas tree isn’t cool enough to be chopped down and used as paper for a Martha Stewart magazine. Sure my tree lacks in style but it’s huge on memories.
 
The best way to describe my tree is with this simple statement:
 
It’s a diarrhea of nostalgia.
 
Hanging from the branches, is an eclectic array of ornaments. Each one carrying with them stories of Christmases passed that are fond, hilarious, and sometimes sad. Those memories burst to life every December 1st when we put up our tree.
 
One of my favorite memories comes from a little red bulb with my name shoddily painted on it.
 
Growing up, Christmas in our home was a big event. My Mom, the craft whiz of the century, took to decorating our home from top to bottom. Every single room had a tree including the bathroom. I kid you not. You need to pee? It was the jolliest pee you’d ever take. It was like we lived in a department store for the holidays. Seeing her transform our home into a mini North Pole produced an excitement so intense that us kids actually played nicely together. You know, cause Santa’s watching more intently now that the decorations were up.
 
One of those days we were playing under the tree because when you’re a child you gravitate to things that are breakable. When all of a sudden the tree started to tilt. My sister and I jumped from under the tree and watched in horror as the tree hit the floor. My mom came rushing in and caught a glimpse of the glitter and glass massacre. Her mouth open but no words came out.
 
We knew we were in deep trouble.
 
All she did was point to our rooms and we scurried off while blocking our butts with our hands out of fear of a spanking. But she never did. We both sat in our rooms crying and we could hear our Mom crying too.
 
When she was done cleaning the glass, she let us out of our room. We apologized profusely and made her pinky swear she wouldn’t tell Santa. We had started to help her rehang the ornaments that were spared when my sister grabbed her "Baby’s First Christmas" glass bulb. She proudly hung it on the tree then looked at me and said "Where’s yours?"
 
Mine broke.
 
That bulb was exactly the same age as I was, 7. Every year, that was the bulb that I put on the tree. That bulb? Totally devastated me.
 
My heart was broken.
 
Every time I walked past the tree, I would get sad as I thought about my bulb. My Mom would lovingly reassure me that it was just a bulb and I remember being so angry with her because she just didn’t get it. It was my bulb. MINE.
 
When Christmas came, we all huddled around the base of the tree gorging our way through wrapped presents to find our names. As I was about to open the largest gift I got, my Mom tapped me on the shoulder and told me to look up. There, right in the center of our tree, was my ornament.
 
"Santa knew you wanted this"
 
It wasn’t the same ornament. The letters of my name were painted from a shaky hand and the snowflakes were not nearly as dainty as the original but it made me smile.
 
When I spent my first Christmas with my husband, we purchased our first tree. My mom came over and dropped off a little package. In it, my red bulb.
 
My mom said "Santa knew you wanted this for your new tree." and we both laughed.
 
When I see it hanging there, it reminds me of my Mom. It reminds me of her patience, of her forgiveness, and of her tender ways of mending my broken heart. It reminds me of her love that is always unconditional no matter how big of a mistake I make. 
 
My mom? She rocks.

 
Thank you so much Courtney for giving me this great opportunity!!!

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Make sure you come back every day this week for more really wonderful Guest Posts! And be sure to visit each of them and let them know how cool you think they are!

Happy Wednesday!