Life’s hand-crafted moments are gloriously imperfect

Dr. Heather Bozant Witcher
Young Adults, Clarion Herald

Shortly after Christmas in  2019, probably closer to New Year’s, I remember trying to paint my 6-month-old twins’ hands. The struggle to get the “perfect” handprints on the tree skirt was real.

I was disappointed – I recall that vividly – because the prints looked more like raccoon paw prints. Instead of pressing flat into the skirt, their hands had curled.

The next year was no easier; nor was it on time. That year, we waited until Epiphany when we were taking down all the Christmas decorations. Looking down at the tree skirt, I remembered that we had started that tradition. And because it was the first Christmas with our youngest, the same raccoon-style print appeared.

I’m delighted to say that this year – Christmas 2023 – we finally got our acts together. The twins watched with growing excitement as the boxes of decorations filled the living room.

They asked a million questions about what things were and where they were going. In the midst of the chaos, I saw the red fuzzy skirt. I grabbed my acrylic paints and immediately began the crafting process.

This time, it was easy. The kids have all done handprints for crafts at home and at school. So, when they pressed their tiny hands into the skirt, the perfect handprints that I had imagined those years earlier suddenly appeared.

Only … I didn’t feel what I had expected.

I’m not sure how to exactly describe that expectation, but whatever I had anticipated, it wasn’t the sadness or nostalgia that began to creep in.

Because as my children rushed off to wash their hands from the silvery paint, my eyes glanced down the line at the four sets of handprints. The smallness and imperfections were what stood out – the rawness of those prints and the reality of those seasons, alongside the growth.

When I look back at those memories, that’s really what seems most poignant – how real they were. The struggles, the chaos, the belatedness. Because that was our reality – between learning how to care for young children, to growing our family, to moving, to adjusting to jobs and daycares, to surviving illnesses and a pandemic. The last few Christmases have been hard, and they’ve been a blur.

So, this year, as I set out fragile décor that I had previously kept tucked in the boxes out of the hands of small children; as the kids’ demands for gingerbread cookies, sugar cookies, apple pie and red velvet cake piled up; as the countdown to 14 “home days” began; and as the handprints were stamped and the Santa picture was framed, I wondered why it seemed that this year was so much easier.

The obvious answer, of course, is that they’re older. My youngest is almost 3, and my twins are 4 1/2 years old. But perhaps, also, there’s been a change within, too. They have joy and excitement in sharing the things they remember and love to do, and it makes the creation of new memories that much easier.

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