I don’t know how she did it. I have four children by a husband who loves them and I very much. My husband works hard and we just manage to get by every month. I’m not yet thirty, and the struggles we have faced together seem to draw us nearer to eachother rather than push us apart. We always get the bills paid, although the due date has long since passed, and even though we shouldn’t have made it this far without losing it all, we have managed to stay afloat.
My mother didn’t have a husband who was there to catch her when she was falling. She couldn’t sit up late at night and confide her fears to a supportive counterpart that would bounce ideas around on how to save their lives from ruins. She was alone, three kids, one income, and no safety net, yet I can’t recall a single Christmas where “Santa” didn’t get me everything I never even knew I wanted. I just don’t know how she did it.
I, still to this day, recall her pleading with us to “turn off these lights”, “keep the a/c on 78″ and, my personal favorite, “stop running in and out, are you trying to cool off the entire neighborhood?” She was on a budget. Not the kind of budget my husband and I are on, the “if I break it, we fix it,” budget, but the “I can’t make a mistake or I’m doomed” kind of budget, but my stocking was always stuffed with apples, oranges, Christmas candy, and walnuts. I remember one year that we all asked for expensive gifts just weeks before Christmas. Radios, keyboards, roller blades, and various extras that we had to have, and even though we thought she had just became aware of our Christmas desires, there they all were, imperfecly wrapped under the Christmas tree.
I never remember telling her how incredible it was that she got me everything I had asked for, plus things I didn’t ask for, but all of a sudden couldn’t live without. She would never hint at us for gratitude, and even when we were beyond believing in Santa Clause she would still give him credit for our gifts, labeling the gift tags, “Love, Santa.” I never helped her cook Christmas dinner, and I don’t even recall bagging up the wrapping paper slewn across the room. She never asked for help, but she never seemed disappointed in us on Christmas day.
I have struggled every Christmas, and every Christmas I look back on those Christmas mornings with momma, and I can’t help but to appreciate how she created such wonderful Christmases with such limited support. I know that children are in amazement of how Santa is able to reach every house on Christmas night, but now that I’m a mother, I am more amazed at the how the “elves” are able to create special gifts for all the little children of the world and never ask for an ounce of credit. My mother was never “Santa,” because she never got credit for what she did when we were kids. She was an elf, always working behind the scenes, and making Christmas magical, without ever starring in the show.
My Christmas memories have changed over the years, and now that I look back through the eyes of a mother, I can see that the greatest gift I had ever received was a mother who sacrificed all year long to give me and my siblings that one perfect day in December. Momma is my Christmas miracle, my Christmas memories, and my humble Christmas elf.