Family Traditions pt. One

Easter Bunny.

Santa Claus.

Elf on the Shelf.

Not enough?

Tooth Fairy.

Leprechauns to catch on St. Patrick's Day.

And that darn baby Cupid for Valentine's Day.

Why, oh why do we do this to ourselves?

I did it for the magic.

I did it to relive the happy memories of our family holiday's growing up as well as replace the unhappy memories that were created with magical, sparkly, happy ones for my kids.

I was the oldest of 3 girls.

I was 6.5 years old when my first little sister was born.

Quick story time about this time in our lives;

So, I'll never forget asking my mom to please just give me a baby sister so that, I could put pigtails in her hair one day. Why pigtails were my reasoning for wanting a sister, I will never know.

But I did.

 My sister was born in 1992, so technology wasn't advanced but there WERE ultrasounds back then.

My mom was able to get one.

They got the "Congrats! IT'S A BOY!"

Huzzah.

My parents were thrilled.

"He" was quickly named Kevin Dean, "his" room was painted a beautiful baby blue and my Aunt hosted a baby shower dedicated to all the blue and "boy" things imaginable.

 I even remember touching my moms stomach and saying "goodnight Kevin" before heading off the bed.

I've been told "he" would then kick and we'd all laugh. Oh silly Kevin.

My mom was all set for her baby boy to arrive.

 I, of course, as a 6 year old, was very disappointed there would be no little sister with pigtails in my near future, but I was equally as ready and excited.

Finally the day came in May of 1992.

I was rushed off to my Granny and Paw-Paws house to spend the night and anxiously await the call that I was finally a big sister.

If memory serves, it was dark outside when the call arrived but I have no idea what time it was, if it was the evening, the middle of the night or the early morning.

I just remember looking out the window standing next to my Granny who was on the corded rotary phone hanging on her brown paneled wall, and seeing darkness.

I must have known what was coming next... dun, dun, dun.

I cannot remember my Granny's reaction to the news but I remember somehow knowing the information.

Kevin Dean was not a boy after all.

I was not a big sister to a baby brother...

I WAS A BIG SISTER TO A BABY SISTER! PIGTAILS HERE WE COME!

Her name was changed to a more "appropriate" girl name for the 90's but with a unique spelling. Then they decided, the first name of my dads favorite NASCAR race car driver, was to be her middle name.

I won't say it on here, as I did not request her permission to share, but I will say, I LOVE her name.

She struggled with her middle name as a child but I think since my dad passed away in 2009 (she was only 17) she has embraced it and thinks of it as a connection to our dad. At least I hope that's the case. I love you forever and always sister.

Moving on;

I remember feeling SO incredibly bonded to both of my sisters when they were born.

I remember being so nervous if any other child dared to hold my first sister (K we'll call her) because they didn't know how to do it properly. What if they dropped her?

Heck no. Hands off bruh.

I even used to sit in time out with her at our babysitters house, with her in my lap because I was so protective I didn't want her sitting there feeling ashamed and alone.

So I sat in shame as well.

Shame sisters!

Ooo, that could be a fun girl group name.

The point of that story though, to get myself back on topic here, is to highlight my love for being in a matriarchal, mothering, parenting role.

Such as pretending to be Santa.

I'll never forget the year my dad "broke the news" that Santa wasn't real.

I cannot remember my age, but it was the year I got a basketball hoop for Christmas.

 He asked me to get the newspaper.

This was back in the day, when the newspaper was delivered daily, in a plastic bag and thrown onto your lawn by the local newspaper kid.

Apparently, they didn't even get a day off for the Christmas holiday. What a time to be alive it was.

This request left me puzzled, due to the fact that collecting the newspaper daily was one of my dads simple pleasures life.

So why on earth was he asking ME to do it?!

Was he okay?

Is he dying?

Do his legs no longer work?

Is the world ENDING?!

All thoughts that most likely crossed through my ADHD, Anxiety ridden, southern Baptist raised, rapture fearing, child brain.

I stayed composed somehow though and said ok.

I walked out the door to go collect the newspaper.

When I turned back around, I saw two things.

One was my dad. BEAMING. Grinning from ear to ear with so much pride at the other thing I was seeing.

MY VERY OWN BASKETBALL HOOP for our driveway!

This was monumental for my only 59” at 39 years old, younger self.

Although I was a pipsqueak, I developed a deep love of playing basketball.

My parents let me join a team at a local high school.

We were team USA.

My dad was SO proud, came to all the games, filmed every game (well mostly the bleachers but some of the game) and cheered as loud as he possibly could for me.

"GO TEAM USA! GO ASH! ASH, GET THE BALL! LET'S GO TEAM USA! GREAT JOB GIRLS, GREAT JOB TEAM USA!"

Our own personal, middle aged, mustached, jean shorts wearing, proud dad cheerleader on the sidelines.

Although I was awful and hated to even have the ball come close to me, I loved playing at home.

Hence, my own basketball hoop.

That thing became a community hoop for my neighborhood eventually.

Preesh Dad.

Back to that Christmas morning;

I see him standing in our yard, being a total proud dad, then over at this majestic item I never dreamed I'd ever own, then back to him.

I already knew my parents were Santa but when I saw him standing there with that grin on his face I had a feeling it was that time.

Time for him to have a heart to heart with his first baby girl about our family traditions.

It is a core memory.

We met at the hoop and he put his arm around my shoulders.

I said "I LOVE IT SO MUCH! THANK YOU SO MUCH DADDY! I mean.... Santa."

I heard him chuckle and felt relieved I opened that door for him. Teamwork makes the...?

He then said "I think you are old enough now to know, Santa isn't real." I smiled and said "I know dad, but don't worry I'll keep pretending for the girls. (my sisters) He looked relieved and proud again.

Then we were able to bond over how excited we were to have this hoop now and how good we were going to get at playing.

I'll add an image to your head, my father was MAYBE 5'6" as a fully grown man.

I am 4'11" now, as a fully grown woman.

We were tiny humans.

It was set the lowest notch but we played hard and felt like Michael Jordan with every shot.

I'm sure it was an amusing sight for the neighbors, but incredible memories for me.

From that moment on, I would point out to my parents that now that I was in on the secret, I should be able to help with Santa!

They always said no, because then my gifts would be spoiled.

Disappointing as a child, but understandable and actually greatly appreciated now as an adult.

For my families traditions with Santa, the Santa gifts were never wrapped. Only gifts from mom dad and others, were wrapped and under our tree. Christmas Eve was when Santa came and put dropped off his gifts.

All unwrapped and put together, set out in groups for each kid.

Every Christmas morning I would wake up so excited and anxious, in fact one year, I was CERTAIN I had heard hoofs on the roof while I was trying to fall asleep so I was even more excited to see that the cookies and carrots for Santa and his Reindeer were gone that morning.

It was my proof I heard, what I heard.

Of course, us girls would always wake up first but we'd either just wait until my parents came to get us or we would go get them up and we'd all walk out to the living room together. We'd see our stockings filled, our Santa gifts laid out and my dad would immediately go set up his video camera. I have a video from Christmas 1995 of this very scenario.

I cry every time I watch it for many reasons, but overall, the happy memories.

 That was our main Christmas tradition.

For Easter, the Easter Bunny would bring a basket for us, usually with the clear wrap around it, very 90's style. I'd be adorned in one of my MANY floral dresses with tights, shoes and a basket weave hat.

I was adorable.

After our excitement of the Easter Bunny we would go to Church like the good Baptists we were, dressed in our Easter best.

Afterwards we would hop on over to my Granny's house (my dad's mom) for an Easter egg hunt with the many cousins.

After that was finished, we'd scurry on over to my mom's mothers house, my grandma.

She lived in the country so the egg hunts were a bit larger but both have left lasting memories for me.

Again, with the MANY cousins.

We'd also always dye hard boiled eggs also.

Every. Year.

For Valentine's Day, I remember doing school cards and probably some candy hearts from my family.

Every Summer we would go to the beach and rent a condo.

Honestly, this place houses 90% of my best childhood summer memories. I could on for days about my summers, but I'll save those.

St. Patrick's Day was just wearing green like typical.

4th of July (a major holiday celebrated in the States) we either were at an Aunts house with a lake in her backyard or at an Aunts house with a pond that had Water Moccasins and turtles, one of which, one of us girls, not sure who exactly, probably K, accidentally caught through the eye with her fishing hook.

Oops. Poor guy.

There were fireworks shot off from another state that weren't allowed to be sold in ours.

There was swimming, music, grilling plus so much fun and laughter.

Halloween was Trick or Treating around our neighborhood and thinking of creative new costumes.

I could do a whole list of the random, off the wall, homemade, costumes I've made and worn over the years.

Halloween was making hanging skeleton decorations out of old milk jugs.

Halloween was carving pumpkins and pretending the guts were spaghetti.

Halloween was parties with a ton of drunk adults, a ton of laughing, oblivious children, music and laughter.

Halloween was homemade popcorn balls and cookies that we could inhale and taste smoke from everyone smoking inside at all times without a care in the world.

Halloween was water balloon fights at night, barefoot on grass, gravel and concrete, unique costumes, candy and HOCUS POCUS. As well as other horror films I should not have been exposed to, but was... Candyman, Nightmare on Elm Street, Rumpelstiltskin (If ya know, ya know.), and of course, the Halloween movies.

We even had our very own Michael Myers, who would be on our street every year just standing, staring, creeping out all of the kids in the neighborhood while all the adults laughed. The 90's y'all. It was the best.

Thanksgiving for me was mostly, me being sad that it was so close to, or every few years, ON, my birthday.

It was already a massive bummer when you literally only have Leo friends.

I swear, 95% of my friends had Summer birthdays, where THREE of them had their birthday's back to back.

17th, 18th, 19th. Shout out! If you're reading, y'all know who I'm talking about.

My boyfriend at that time, an August birthday.

Both sisters, summer birthdays.

My closest cousin? Summer birthday.

They all got to have the fun parties at the pool, the playground, Sonic, OUTSIDE IN GENERAL.

All their friends were home, because, summer.

All of that often clouded my excitement for the Thanksgiving holiday.

Childish, I know.

To be fair though, I was a actively a child at the time.

Our Thanksgiving was always so busy anyway.

First was my Granny's house where we'd be the first half of the day with my grandparents, their 6 adult children, who were all married, plus all of their children, including 3 extra grand kiddos.

It was a FULL house in a 1950's probably, 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house with a converted den with cave crickets, that used to be a carport.

 I have THE best memories there though.

The food was INCREDIBLE.

We'd gorge ourselves, hang out with family, I'd get angsty, cause I was a kid and I knew we had one more place to go before home, then move on to the other grandparents house.

My mothers family was farther away so I'd have books and things to distract me in the car like this.

That house was a double wide trailer, with my grandparents, their 6 adult children, all married, all with children of their own, minimum 2 per couple (triplets and twins included).

It always was a FULL house, but for some reason it never felt too small.

I am actually tearing up just writing this, but there was so much love in that home. There was a lot of trauma under the surface for every single human in that house, a lot behind the scenes, so many struggles.

But what I remember about that home and those humans, from being a kid, was LOVE and WARMTH.

My grandmother was a true southern lady. Her smile would make you start asking for a nice glass of sweet tea and some butter pecan ice cream. Then you'd melt as you hear her say "Well, bless your heart." in the sweetest, thickest, southern accent.

She was a beautiful woman with a heart full of love for her family. Our Matriach. I miss her. I miss both of my matriarchs. They are my inspiration now though.

For Thanksgiving at my Grandma's, it was, holding hands, bowing your head and listening to your Chicago style grandfather figure, who lets you feed the Koi fish and play with the statue, say his catholic prayer while peaking around to see if anyone else is a rebel like me.

Nope.

Womp.

Thanksgiving was the men all falling asleep in the living to football playing on the tv.

Very stereotypical but very accurate.

Beer cans and all.

Thanksgiving was me trying to play piano while the men slept and the cousins played and the women cleaned.

I was an odd duck. The lone wolf. The oldest grandchild out of many, none of which were super close in age.

There were also the years once my Granny and PawPaw were past the age of hosting holiday’s when we would be at one of my Aunts house.

The one with the lake.

Those memories are of the smell of her pool, the dolphins in the bottom that scared me, the sausage balls, bean dip and of course my family.

Christmas at both set of Grandparents was much of the same, just add on gifts and a Christmas tree, rinse and repeat.

Moving on to present day.

Since I've become an adult and a mom, I've been able to pick and choose which traditions I'd like to keep with my own family which has led to so many wonderful memories as well as quite a few frustrations.

I'm going to "cliffhanger" this one and start a part two with the reasons why I am now kicking myself for some of these traditions, how I'm approaching these traditions as my kids get older, as well as, how I feel about these traditions evolving.

Stay tuned for part two!

Thank you to anyone that stuck around and read this lengthy blog.

I had a lot to say on this topic apparently.

I appreciate every single person that comes to my small part of the internet.

Welcome.

-The Messy Hippie 🌈✌🏻