There are so many good memories related to this time of year. Road trips to grandparents' houses. Pressing my face to the window to look up into the sky for Santa Claus swearing I could hear bells jingling. Presents from Santa Claus. Performing our dance studio's special Christmas numbers at nursing homes, malls and other places. Making chains of paper to count down the days to Christmas. My grandfather's last Christmas, which was huge, spectacular and incredibly memorable.
Becoming a woman on Christmas Eve when I was 12. (While not really a good or bad memory, this definitely sticks out in my mind.) I had to tell my mom that I got my period. She teared up and said something about her baby growing up and then handed me a box of maxi pads. The embarrassing part came the next morning when my dad said something about it. When you're 12, a brand new member of the womanhood gang and fresh to the Attack of the Red Monster, it's embarrassing when your dad brings up that you are now a woman.
But there is one memory that stands out above all others.
When my brother was a baby, my sister and I placed him in the center of the living room on a blanket and danced around him in giddy circles to Christmas music (It was either The Chipmunks or Disney Merry Christmas Carols. What? I didn't say I had a perfect memory.) The best part of this memory is that we recreated it 20 years later.
Yup. It's not just me. I come from a family of goofballs. My sister would probably deny it. But deep down she knows it's true.