Christmas' past

I have many wonderful memories, but I will always, especially, treasure those of when my children were young. 

I can remember them scooting down the stairs, eyes wide with excitement, waiting to see what Santa had left behind.  They hadn't yet mastered the art of walking down the stairs, so instead, they scooted on their bottoms, or even backwards, which they got pretty good at, and could probably beat me, on my feet!  I remember their pajama'd feet padding across the floor of our home, running to the tree.  I remember their Dad and I being happy together, long before the days of hatred and mistrust.  I remember them happily singing along with Barney, as they ripped open their bright packages, overjoyed with so many new toys, just for them.  I remember them jumping into the boxes that the toys came in, or in an empty laundry basket, as those allowed so much more imagination than any plastic toys that could be found at Walmart. 

I remember the huge family dinners.  Their dad would cook the turkey, and I would bake sweet breads, cookies and pies.  We would all sit around the table together, and pray before our meal.  We would go to Church for an evening service, and all return home, tired, yet grateful.  After bath and brushing teeth, there were plenty of snuggles to go around. 

Oh yesterday, it seems like an idealogical dream.  I actually lived that life at one time, and cannot begin to express how I miss it.  But I guess I should be thankful for the memories of Christmas' past.