I’m writing over at The Glorious Table today.
One of the sayings our family has picked up from my coach husband’s college football teams is “making memories.” The teams use this phrase when great things happen, like an overtime win, but more often they use it when something hard happens.
My husband, Ordell, usually smiles when he categorizes a less-than-great event in our personal lives as a “memory.” Highlights include the time our puppy threw up on me in the car with an hour left to drive; the time we flew home from Colorado with a six-month-old and two-year-old who threw up and dry heaved the entire flight, respectively; and the time we were replacing our roof with the help of the football staff and one guy moved a ladder while another guy was still standing on it. Thankfully no one was permanently injured in any of these memories!
Growing up, my Christmas memories were consistently joy-filled because of my extended family. My grandfather was one of five brothers, and we all gathered on Christmas Eve. But as my cousins and I got married one by one, we all moved away from the Chicagoland area and holiday times no longer included large family gatherings.
Read the rest over at The Glorious Table