Before we had children my husband and I started buying a Christmas ornament from the places we visited. The tradition continued in a frenzy once our boys were old enough to help us choose the ornament of the year.
The ritual goes like this: the clerk carefully wraps the ornaments in tissue paper, and places it in a cardboard box. The ornament miraculously makes it home from our trip, whether by airplane, boat or car, unscathed.
Once the ornament makes it to our tree, our traditional magic begins; one by one, each ornament ends up with a broken part.
We have the “Snow made Ice Cream” from our trip to Michigan… a snowball is always rolling out of the pail.
Our Santa Football player is now broken beyond repair.
What tree is complete without a twisted sailboat?
This one hurt the most. Just this week, I dropped the pig I made with my son 10 years ago. I know it can easily be re-made; but this one held the memory of that place and time that is so far away now, and can never be captured again.
Still, when our littlest son broke our Disney Magic Kingdom ornament, we all gasped, and before we knew it, we had the little guy in tears.
No ornament is worth the tears. And besides, it wouldn’t be our ornament if it wasn’t broken.