My mom is an amazing woman. She’s very crafty. (Yes, she CAN get you to do something you didn’t want to do using some clever tricks, but that’s not quite what I meant.)
The year I was born, she made my Christmas stocking. It is a beautiful stocking with incredibly detailed cross-stitch work. It is just one of the many ways she has shown her patience and love. I love my stocking. Every year during Christmas time (now that I’m older) I wonder if, when I have a family of my own, she will give me mine for my own mantel or just make all news ones.
Every one in our family has a unique cross-stitched-by-Mom stocking. And each one of us has our own unique stocking holder.
I love my stocking, but I love my stocking holder MORE. It is a little kitten that looks just Figaro from Disney’s Pinocchio. When I was very little, that was my FAVORITE movie.
It should come as no surprise, then, that my very first kitten was a black and white one.
So, I grew up with the same little kitten holding up my stocking year after year and I loved it.
That’s when the unspeakable happened. I arrived at my mother’s house to find it decorated for Christmas . . . but there was an abomination on the mantel! My darling stocking holder. My kitten. My love. Was GONE.
In it’s place? A big silver snowflake. Cold. Color-less. Lacking personality. SO. NOT. ME.
I may or may not have thrown a slight fit . . .
Mami’s defense was simply that the cat kept falling off the mantel. It couldn’t hold my stocking up anymore. Funny, though, because she seems to have found a way to make it work ever since.
No, I have no idea what happened to the snowflake. It was never seen or heard from again. =D