Children make your life important.
~Erma Bombeck
The M&Ms were sorted by color in individual bowls. They sat next to a tray of red licorice sticks and candy canes. Six tubes of decorator icing, each one a different color with its own uniquely shaped tip, lay scattered on the kitchen table.
I looked in from the dining room doorway. “We need a bigger table.” The room reminded me of what Mrs. Claus’s kitchen might look like. The rich aroma of cinnamon and ginger filled the air. Even with the leaf inserted, the table overflowed with foil trays. Each tray contained an undecorated gingerbread house, twenty-one in all. They were ready for the friends who would be visiting us over the next few days.
For several years, my husband and I had offered the gift of time to various families each Christmas season. Couples would leave their young children with us, usually on a Saturday morning. Then they would gratefully slip out to spend the day Christmas shopping without the pressure of prying eyes.
The grandfather clock in the living room struck ten. Even though the morning sun streamed through the windows, I turned on the lights of our Christmas tree. Then I hit the play button and Christmas music filled the room. Right on time, a car pulled into the driveway and moments later the doorbell rang.
Four children rushed through the door and immediately began to peel off their coats, gloves, and boots. Their parents trailed behind them. After hugs and kisses all around, Ken and Roz waved goodbye and stepped back toward the door. The kids barely noticed the departure as they took their seats at the table. They remembered the drill, even though it happened only once a year.
“I’m ready!”
“Can we start now?”
“Can we, please?”
“Pretty please?”
Four upturned faces pleaded to begin. While they talked about their planned masterpieces, I set an assembled but undecorated gingerbread house in front of each child. Organized chaos soon reigned.
“I need the white tube!”
“Wait — I’m using it first.”
“But I need it now!”
I picked up an errant M&M from the floor, and walked over to the kitchen table. “Remember the rules. We share the different colored icings and take turns.”
“But she’ll use up all the white and I need it for the snow on my roof.”
“You already have snow! It’s my turn!”
I opened another tube of white icing and screwed on a decorating tip. “There’s enough for everyone.” Actually, there was more than enough. The looks of pitiful disappointment when I ran out of one color the previous year were enough to teach me to stock up.
For an hour or two, the kids plastered the unadorned gingerbread houses with gobs of icing: white, red, blue, and green. Then they covered the icing with handfuls of candy. There was an unspoken rivalry to see who could attach the most candy to their house without it falling off. Their creativity was fun, intensely focused, and fiercely competitive. Once they found their rhythm, silence prevailed for a brief time, occasionally punctuated by bursts of satisfied giggles as they surveyed their progress.
With each Christmas, the children grew more creative. In the beginning, they simply covered every inch of the gingerbread with icing and candy. But they quickly became proficient in handling the tubes and identifying the various tips available for each color. Within a few years they were decorating their houses with intricate icing patterns as they sought to have their handiwork match their vision. The older children even learned to use the icing and candy to add chimneys, shrubs, fences, and snowmen to the basic gingerbread structure.
When they were finally satisfied with their achievements — or when the candy ran out, whichever came first — we photographed the children with their architectural creations. Then we cleared the table and moved the houses out of reach to allow the icing to harden. Next, we ate lunch, although they weren’t usually hungry, probably because much of the candy never made it onto the houses!
When lunch was done we shifted the activity from the kitchen to the living room.
“Can we watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?”
“No! March of the Wooden Soldiers.”
“I want A Christmas Carol.”
“We watched that last year.”
That last comment always surprised me. They even remembered which movie they had watched the previous year!
After the movie, we played games and later examined their houses to make any necessary “repairs.” Depending on the time, we watched another Christmas special. We could only stall so long before our guests wandered over to the Christmas tree. With an impressive nonchalance, they surreptitiously checked out the wrapped gifts, examining the gift tags. With a bit of approved snooping, they quickly spotted their names and the presents were distributed. Soon the only sounds we heard were the tearing of paper and laughter… lots of laughter.
By the time their parents returned, we were all worn-out… but it was a happy exhaustion for all. The children had a full day and their parents returned with a trunk full of presents, but of course, the kids didn’t know that. The day’s highlight occurred when the children proudly displayed their masterpieces to Mom and Dad. As they piled into the cars, holding their creations on their laps, we would realize, once again, that we had as much fun as they did.
The best part of all? Decades later, we still hear from many of the families. The children have grown and now have children of their own. And they are carrying on the tradition with their own families. Through letters, Christmas cards, and social media, each year they send us photos of a new generation of budding architects displaying their sweet masterpieces.
Funny thing is, all those years ago we thought we were giving the parents the gift of time. Now I realize we were creating lifelong memories… for the parents, the children, and for us.
~Ava Pennington
