So, last week, if you read my blog, you will know that I my objective every Christmas is to make my husband cry...happy tears, of course. Some years, I am successful and some, well, not so much.
My favorite Christmas memory, again, stems from a time when we had pretty much no disposable income. We had a 19-month old, a one-month old, an $1100 mortgage, and a paycheck that stretched, um, not very far. Craig made about $31,000 a year and I wasn't working, so you can do the math on that.
I had no money to buy Craig anything, so I had to use what I had -- an empty, chipped picture frame, an old photograph, and words. Here is what went in the frame:
My Daddy’s Hands
My Daddy’s hands dry my eyes and wipe my tears.
They hold me close and draw me near.
They will check for monsters ‘neath my bed,
And pull my covers up to my head.
They clap for me when I do right,
He folds them up for prayers at night.
My Daddy’s hands are very strong,
I know they’ll always help me along,
For that first step or first heartbreak,
My Daddy’s hands will make me safe.
They will catch me when I fall,
And love me, love me through it all.
Gentle, gentle, these hands, they are,
Changing my diaper, pointing out a star.
Guiding my bike, fixing my toys,
My Daddy’s hands bring so much joy.
Checking homework, meeting boyfriends,My Daddy’s hands are a Godsend.
I have to say, there was nary a dry eye in the house. The best part of that Christmas was that my sweet Grannie shared it with us -- it was the last Christmas we would spend together.