Mom and I Decorate for Christmas

i. Gold

Gently, she lays spun glass around the rosewood stable, pulling the hairs apart ever so slightly into cirrus drifts, which bank over the heads of the small ceramic lambs, curled up on the buffet table in the dining room. The cow and the donkey bow into a slumber to the silent tune of the shepherd’s fife. She asks me which way is East so we know what side to put the wise men on, two years down the table. We pick up Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, organize them into a triune family under a modest roof.

ii. Frankincense

Dozens of small white cartons filled with glass treasures. We loop our index fingers through ovals of fishing line and thin ribbon, holding them up to the window pane, December’s adoration casting a silver hue. We admire some longer than others, especially the glassy red orb that forms into a burgundy teardrop at the bottom. All laid out on sheets of old tissue paper, perfumed with sap, crinkled and torn from so many times being tucked in and taken out. This ornamental orphanage awaits its advent, to be swaddled in thorns of blue spruce.

iii. Chocolate

She rummages through the Sharpies and rubber bands in the kitchen junk drawer for a roll of Scotch tape. Out of a bag of Hershey’s Kisses from Walgreen’s, she counts twenty-five pieces of full, silver crinoline, and binds one to every boxed date with an adhesive O. At night, after we sit in red pajamas by a golden fire and read from Matthew and Luke, I tear off a Kiss and she gets the bag containing the rest from a high cupboard shelf. We indulge in a sweet, daily gift, together.