Our Annual Christmas Ornament

I was cracking up. Trevor called his mom wondering where his annual Christmas ornament was. She normally sends a Christmas ornament to us every year. We didn't get one this past Christmas. She's been spending much time in the Pacific North West with family, rather than her home in Hawaii. She said, "I looked, but all the ornaments up here are ugly."

I could only imagine a list of ugly ornaments...

• Sasquatch ornaments being #1
• Redwood tree ornaments
• a fish with a hook in its mouth ornaments
• pinecone or acorn with glitter on it for a ridiculous price
• Smokey the bear ornaments
• fruit and veggie ornaments reminiscent of farming

I'm not saying those are ugly-ugly.  I'm just saying it's not for us and if I know my mother-in-law, it's definitely not her, either.  

I love decorating, and since I have been with Trevor, the theme has been tropical since both of us are tropical people (he was raised in Hawaii, we met in Hawaii, and I'm proud to be part Ilocano). So, I'm very specific on what I put on display. Though, my sister's decorations dominated the holidays the last two years (hers are a mix of everything from snowmen, gingerbread, Christmas mice, candy canes, traditional Santa, angels, etc) I would love to open our holiday decorations up, again, too. I generally stick to one theme. She doesn't have a theme. Her theme is "if it's cute, it's on display."

For Christmas 2023, in the tradition, Trevor Claus sent his sons in Florida candy-stuffed Christmas stockings made of fabrics from Hawaii with Hawaiian print, so they could have something from where they were born. We got them from a booth at the monthly Aloha Fair (many of the vendors are Poly Mainlanders with ties to the islands or Hawaii locals who moved to the mainland). Going to the fair is my way of getting Trevor involved in OUR community without a membership card as well as mingling with people who understand pidgin, hear music he grew up with, and can let him be himself without question. As the fair grows in popularity, new vendors come out of the woodwork, too, as well as Hawaii locals traveling from other cities and counties to get to it.

No Cookies for Santa

“Cookies are made of butter and love.” – Norwegian Proverb

It's the first year ever with no cookies for Santa or glittery oatmeal for the reindeer.  As a matter of fact, no Santa is expected, and no gifts from Santa under the tree.  That's relieving on the bank account, but not my heart. 

Our home life has been in turbulence between me, my partner, and my teenaged daughter.  Earlier in the year, we were in counseling, mainly for her, but also as a family.  In an explosive and agitated state, defering from the reason why were in counseling, my kids' father stated that I keep babying the youngest and abruptly said, "There's no such thing as Santa." 

My son handled it well, but I felt so bad for him, because at 9 years old (he just turned 10 three months ago), he still believed. I actually didn't know how to make him not believe, and wasn't sure if I should ever break him the news, or would he just grow out of it, or would kids at school tell him.  It was such a harsh way of breaking it to him.  His answer was, "It's ok, I knew it anyway," which was a lie.  My son really believed.  He even told me he had a falling out with his best friend because his friend said, "Santa is fake."  

On the other hand, it makes me sad that my children are all big. My daughter has 1 year left before she's an adult, my son Kalib has less than 4 years, and Chris has 8 more years.  I don't know how much longer we will be a family unit under one household with the sad feelings I have as of late.

Santa Looks Different

I was caught off guard, and almost caught.

While organizing pics by theme (holidays, vacation, school pics, etc) I came across 2 Santa pictures (one from 2008 and the other from 2009) with my youngest son, Christopher, sitting on Santa's lap.  He wanted to see and so I showed him, and he asks, "Why does Santa look so much younger in this pic?" 

I was usure how to answer and responded with, "Good question.  Go ask Dad."

And then his dad said, "Yeah, Santa looks different every time I see him, too. When I was a kid he was Black."

Christopher said, "That's weird."

Santa's Village

I wrote about this before, but not in as much detail.  

When I was little, my dad took me and my brother to Santa's Village. I think I still had hopes that there really was a Santa Claus, but I knew deep down he was fake as hell. I had a little friend named Amy Pacheco who said he wasn't real. That if I paid attention, the handwriting and wrapping paper should look familiar to me on each present. 

My dad used to love the mountains, and he took me to the San Bernardino Mountains all the time. I used to vomit on the way up there, because I got car sick, and he drove a stick shift. Switching gears only makes my motionsickness come on faster.

We got to the mountains, but people on the road were sending everyone to buy chains for the tires, so we wouldn't slide on ice in the mountains. I remember my dad took me to a store and bought me yellow mittens. I was in the parkinglot gagging over the snow. I didn't want to get back in his jeep. I was crying. He said it wasn't very long, that all we had to do was go up there, and he pointed to this hazy white mist with a mountantop sticking out of it. I said, "What's that?" He said, "That's a cloud. The mountain is so high up we'll be in the clouds." That facinated me.

I remember laying in the back of his jeep. He was telling me I was missing everything. My brother was like, "Yeah, you're missing everything." I just moaned in the backseat that my tummy was hurting. The jeep stopped. "We're at Santa's Village!!!" I couldn't wait to get out of the jeep. I remember looking around and seeing real snowflakes falling out of the sky. Kids were everywhere. The ground was cold, and the air was seeping into my black leather boots. My fingers were cold, and my mittens were getting a tear in it, where the thumb and index finger meet.

I don't remember the rides as much as I remember Mrs. Claus. She came up to me, grabbed my hand and led me to a machine that dropped all kinds of candy. My dad took me to Santa's Home. It was a house, but the line was going out the door. I remember getting close, and I was excited. I got up to Santa Claus. I got on his lap, and I remember seeing kids to my left, and a camera to my right. Santa said, "What do you want for christmas?" I looked at him and said, "I don't know." He looked at my gap, where the teeth had fallen out a few months before. He said, "How about some new front teeth?" Everyone started laughing, and during that laugh, that's when they snapped the Christmas picture of me. Santa gave me a candy cane.

After Santa's Village, I remember my dad taking us somewhere in the mountains. We had innertubes in the back of the jeep. My feet were frozen and I had been crying. I didn't have the right kind of shoes on for snow. I couldn't go out with them. I never got on the innertubes, but I sat in my dad's jeep, thawing out while his heater was on. I remember crying and watching them slide down miniature slopes. I wanted to go home.
 
I don't remember going home, but I remember that I didn't like snow. I remember being scared of snow, thinking about frostbite, losing limbs and stuff. Alas, that's one of the few memories I have spending with my dad. And still, he was not in a picture with me. I don't have any pictures of us together. I miss you dad.

Christmastime 1982-1983

December 24, 1982
I am five years old.  My sister Jeri baked cookies and put them into glass jars for our family members.  This is what she will give to everybody this Christmas.  The house has been very busy.

My dad's brother Barry, his wife Cynthia, and my cousin Angelique will be here.  They are going to sleep at our house.  I have never met them before.  

Christmas comes and goes. We still keep our tree up.  When my uncle comes to the house, I am in my bedroom playing.  My dad calls me to the living room where I see them.  They talk about us.  I'm known as "Mimi" and she is Angelique, but they call her Ange.  I just see another child that I can play with and she's about my age.

Angelique wants to play with me.  I don't know her well and I am very introverted.  I go to my bedroom to color with my new pen that has 4 different colored inks (red, blue, black, and green).  Angelique wants to color with my pen.  I don't want her to.  It's my pen and I don't want anyone else to touch it.  She says, "You have to share.  I am your cousin."  I don't really care who she is.  I don't want to share my pen.  She takes it out of my hand and says, "Share."  I punch her in the eye.  She drops my pen and runs to the kitchen, crying to her mom.  Her mom is cutting vegetables next to my mom. 

Angelique cries while looking at me.  I feel scared.  I know I am going to get into trouble if she doesn't quiet down.  I'm standing by my mom, and looking at Angelique.  My dad hears Angelique crying, too.  Angelique says, "She hit me."  My dad tells me to come to his bedroom.  I don't want to go.

I reluctantly head to my dad's bedroom.  I am standing at his door, at attention, utter fear building up fast.  My dad said, "Why did you hit her?"  I said, "She took my pen from me."  He said, "You shouldn't hit your cousin.  That wasn't nice.  You better go say sorry to her."  I don't want to say sorry.  I'm too shy and I have never had to apologize to anyone before.

I walk to the kitchen where Angelique still holds her mother's leg, tears drying on her face.  I say, "Sorry," and we become friends again.  

Dinnertime happens, and I am sitting on a stack of phonebooks at the kitchen table with my family.  My cousin Vickie who had been my bully walks over to our Uncle Barry, hugging him from the side and says, "I love you.  You're my godfather."  She then says to Angelique, "That makes you my little sister."  Vickie looks at me and scowls.  She knows I hit her little "sister."

At bedtime, Angelique wants to sleep next to me on my bedroom floor.  My mom put blankets down for us to share.  My cousin Vickie is sleeping over too, but she takes my side of the bed that I share with my sister Jeri.  Angelique and I lay on the floor.  The house is quiet.  I am glad someone is laying next to me.

My cousin and I talk and talk.  Finally, she says, "You talk too much."  I don't know what she means.  My sister always talks to me at night.  Angelique gets up and says, "I'm going to my mom and dad.  I can't sleep because you talk too much."  I'm left in the dark, alone on the floor.  I am usually afraid to sleep alone, but I fall asleep quickly.

The following morning, my sister Jeri is taking the tree ornaments down.  Vickie told me, "Angelique and I are going out to the backyard to play on the swings and make mudpies, and you are not invited."  I looked at Jeri.  I am thinking, "Thats my yard and my mud.  That's my swingset."  I am hurt.  Jeri said, "Just ignore them.  Help me take down the tree."  I dropped one of the ornaments and it broke on the floor, and Vickie said, "Ooh, I'm telling your dad."  I started to cry.

Later on, Vickie and Angelique came back to the living room and Jeri and I are still taking ornaments down.  Vickie said, "I'm taking my sister, Angelique, to Shady Acres.  Our mudpies are drying on the slide.  You better not touch them."  As soon as they leave, curious as to what a mudpie was, I go to the backyard, see the big, round piles of dirt on the top of my slide, and I push them down.  They tumble down my slide and brake on the ground.  I feel so satisfied.

I go back into the house for protection.  I know Vickie is going to be livid and don't know if she is going to retaliate.  When she and Angelique come back home, they check their mudpies.  Vickie storms in the house and finds me sitting next to Jeri and says, "What did I say about the mudpies?  I told you not to touch them and you did."  I know Jeri isn't going to let Vickie hurt me.  I stay next to her.  Vickie grabs Angelique's hand and says, "Come on, sister.  Let's go play without, Mimi."  I do not care, because I know I am protected.

January 1983
The following day, I wake up early with my family.  My uncle Barry has a treat for us.  He is taking us to Disneyland.  I don't know how the trip was paid, whether my father or mother, or my uncle paid for it, but all of us go to Disneyland.  I stay with Jeri the entire time.  My mom and dad do not go.  My uncle has a station wagon, and I go into the back of the station wagon with my siblings and we head to the Happiest Place on Earth.  

It's my first time at the Magical Kingdom, and it is still decorated for Christmas.  It's prettier than anything I have ever seen.  I love watching the parade the moment we get there.  I've never been to a parade before.  Christmas doesn't really mean anything to me yet, but it is so pretty, with everything so bright and colorful.  I don't want to ever leave this place.  

I don't know time yet.  I don't know how many days it has been since Christmas.  I don't know if we already had the New Year.  But, I just know that my Uncle Barry and his family have to leave to Michigan, where they live.  I don't know about missing anyone.  I don't know about distance.  I just know that I met this girl and now she's going away.  I probably won't ever see her again, but I don't even understand that, either.  

No Disneyland.  No little girl to draw with.  All our decorations are down.  Vickie went home, too.  Life goes back to normal again.