Christmas – Tales of a Family

Daily writing prompt

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

One afternoon, while I was playing with a neighbor, she proudly showed me a gift she had received, a Madame Alexander Pussy Cat doll. To my eight-year-old eyes, she was the most beautiful baby doll I had ever seen. She looked almost real. Her cheeks were chubby and rosy, her little arms and legs were soft and round, and tiny dimples marked her knees. Her eyes opened and closed, and when you tipped her just right, she said mama. She was perfect. I gushed over her, telling my friend Kim how beautiful she was and how I couldn’t wait to go home and tell my mom about her.

That excitement didn’t last long. Kim’s mother overheard our conversation and explained that the doll was very expensive and that my family could not afford such a luxury. I remember the sting of disappointment, but even at that young age, I understood something important. Family mattered more than material things. My mom always found ways to make our childhood feel special and magical, even without expensive gifts. What she gave us, love, attention, and imagination, was worth far more than any doll.

But moms have a way of creating their own quiet magic.

I’m not sure how my mother found out that I wanted that doll, but somehow she did. Without a word to me, she asked my dad to take her to a nearby toy store that carried Madame Alexander dolls. There, she put my doll, who would later be named Amy, on layaway. Month after month, she faithfully made payments until the doll was paid for in full. It was a labor of love I never noticed at the time.

On Christmas morning, I tore open my gift and froze. There she was, my very own Pussy Cat doll. I remember holding her close, hardly able to believe she was really mine. In that moment, I felt only the magic, not the sacrifice, planning, or quiet determination that had worked behind the scenes. Amy became an instant treasure, one that stayed with me through the years.

As an adult, I now understand what that gift truly represented. My mother wanted her only daughter to have something special that Christmas, and she was willing to sacrifice to make it happen. My Momma was, and always will be, a miracle worker in my eyes.

I still have my little Amy doll to this day, a reminder that she was never just a toy, but a symbol of my mother’s deep devotion. That little doll represents the kind of Christmas magic only a mother’s love can create.

Sitting on this shelf, this pretty little elf.

With her inquisitive stare, bright eyes, and pouty smile, this sweet little elf, dressed all in red, has always been one of my favorite heirlooms. This elf on the shelf beauty was a doll my Mama received one year for Christmas when she was five years old. She wasn’t just any doll—this elf on the shelf was a special Christmas gift my mama received when she was just five years old

Mama often spoke of how magical Christmas was in her childhood home. Each year, the family would venture out to find the perfect tree, bringing it home to decorate with care. When I was a child, I vividly remember Mama hanging ornaments she had lovingly saved from her own youth. The Christmas of 1939 was during the Great Depression, and times were tough. Grandpa worked long hours on the ranch, while Grandma cleaned houses to help make ends meet. Despite the challenges, Grandma always managed to make Christmas special. Each year, the children—my mom and my aunt—would receive one “big” gift and a stocking filled with little treasures.

That year, Grandma bought Mama a secondhand doll. It wasn’t extravagant, but Mama cherished it deeply. Every Christmas afterward, she would lovingly place that little elf on display, a symbol of resilience and joy during hard times.

Now, in my own home, this cherished heirloom has found a special place of honor, perched safely on her little shelf—a reminder of family, tradition, and the enduring magic of Christmas.