My grandmother recently came to visit and brought with her some items from my childhood that had been in storage in the house my great-grandfather built. There was a toy box my dad’s step-father had made for me, a wooden babydoll high chair and the most precious thing of all: my bear chair.

Oh, how I loved my bear chair. I can still remember how it felt to sit in it. It made me feel so special, like a queen on a throne. It was so huge and soft and spectacular. It was a staple in my bedroom for the first 9 years of my life. And when my husband carried it into the house and set it in front of me, I felt like I was seeing an old friend. I longed to climb into it. But I settled for watching my girls do it, squealing with delight over the magnificence of my incredible and gloriously red bear chair.

As my grandma settled in, the stories began. The bear chair had opened a floodgate and the memories just poured out. I was amazed that all of those experiences had been lying dormant in my brain all this time. I couldn’t have recalled them the day before, which is really a testament to the power and majesty of my bear chair.

Later, when we were pulling out Christmas decorations and telling the girls about what came from where and why it was special, a set of five glittery angels reminded us of the wax church we used to make each season. My grandma had found the project in a Work Basket magazine and made it with her daughter, year after year. And when her daughter became my mom, we made it together, too.

It only seemed right to make one with my girls this year, which my mom and I did. I recorded the process and posted it over at My OH! Momma today. And then, I dug up an old picture of me, the wax church and the bear chair on my first Christmas.

My First Christmas

And I couldn’t resist creating this one.

Phoebe's First Christmas

(You can click the pictures to see the notes attached to them.)

*If you’ve never heard Traditions of Christmas, you must go and listen to it here.