Having a Big Time While Holding Little Hands
My mother used to describe an especially exciting experience as a big time, as in: “We sure did have a big time!” I had a big time last weekend when I made six trips to Santa’s Workshop, the craft fair sponsored each year by Cookeville’s Junior Women’s Club. I’ve been attending Santa’s Workshop with grandchildren since 2016. Now our tradition is to attend Santa’s Workshop in twos: one (local) grandchild and one Little. I love this time when I get to enjoy one-on-one time with one grandchild after another. We do indeed have a big time.
This year I had two bonus trips. I was invited to go two more times, once with a couple of friends and once with Ray. Always ready for an adventure, of course I said yes. I met the friends there at 1:00 on Friday. At 2:30 I picked up our granddaughter who is 13. At 5:00 I took her home and picked up her little brother who is six. On Saturday I took our eight-year-old grandson first, then his brother who is 11; and finally Ray and I went together in the early evening. I came home Saturday night with a collection of Christmas gifts and an exhausted body. This is a large fair held in an agricultural arena. It’s no telling how many miles I walked! But most importantly, I came home with a full heart. What precious times with our grandchildren.
Again we saw the older couple who make puppets, and again they told us that these toys are not like today’s toys. These toys are for imagination.
After eight years, certain vendors whom we never see any other time remember us. They remember our adorable grandchildren and maybe they remember my owls.
We always stop at the booth where a lady sells her beautiful large decorations like this nativity.
When our grandchildren were young, they liked to hold the Baby Jesus. I have some adorable pictures. Once upon a time the figures of Mary and Joseph were taller than our oldest granddaughter. In the picture with them this year, she towers above them. After years of thinking, “I could make a set of those,” I finally decided to purchase a set for us last year. I asked our granddaughter to choose which one we would get. She chose this one. I wish you could read what is on their bags. Joseph’s is labeled taxes and Mary’s is labeled swaddling clothes.
We’ve been going long enough to see changes, some sad and some happy. This very tall Santa (I only came up to his shoulder) who is enjoying our now 11-year-old grandson pulling his real beard has now passed away.
This year for the first time when I asked our granddaughter if she wanted to look at the 18-inch doll clothes, she said, “Not really.” However, Ray and I still had a nice chat with the lady who makes them. She remembered our granddaughter very well and even remembered one of her little brothers coming to buy something for her last year.
In 2017 I wrote about the two visits I made to Santa’s Workshop that year. When I came across that post the other night, I read about a conversation I had there that I had completely forgotten. This conversation teaches an essential lesson that I want very much to share with you today. So here you go. Here is “Holding Little Hands” from 2017.
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For three days last weekend, hundreds of women tramped on the powdery orange surface of a venue which usually hosts livestock shows. [In 2024 it was covered! Yay!] We strolled among the booths of Santa’s Workshop, an annual craft fair sponsored by a nearby Junior Women’s Club and held at our local agriculture pavilion.
The $3.00 a person admission supports many local causes. The club must have made a bundle this year. The parking lot looked more like the scene of a major sporting event than a craft fair. When I started down one aisle to see the booths on either side, I turned around and went the other way. Shoulder to shoulder people were literally blocking my way.
An outing to Santa’s Workshop has become an annual tradition for two of our grandchildren (ages 4 and 6) and their Little. [Now they are 11 and 13 and have three little brothers and an infant sister.] On Saturday we sniffed homemade soaps, held wooden toy tractors in our hands, shared a bag of kettle corn, and looked at just about anything an 18-inch doll will ever need — dresses, pajamas, raincoats, shoes, necklaces, beds, and even little rooms.
The same elderly couple who patiently showed our grandchildren how to operate their handmade marionettes last year, did so again this year. The lady who makes four-foot-tall soft sculpture dolls of Mary and Joseph, along with a little baby to place in a manger, let the children play with them again this year, and even remembered that they did the same thing last year.
When the children tired of going up and down aisle after aisle of crafts, we climbed into the purple and yellow stadium seats to look out over the sea of booths below us — grandson on one side, granddaughter on the other, and Little in the middle.
I answered questions, explaining why orange powder was beneath our feet and why red and white drapes stood between the booths and what the announcer really meant about Santa leaving his picture-taking post to go see his reindeer.
It was wonderful.
On Sunday I went back to the craft fair alone to purchase a couple of things I had found the day before. A second trip made more sense than juggling stuff on Saturday, when I much preferred holding two little hands to carrying stuff. I arrived a few minutes before the show opened on Sunday and stood in line behind two ladies I didn’t know. They had come to the craft fair together. The three of us chatted while we waited.
Let’s call these ladies Gwen and Becky. I didn’t learn their names, so these will do. Gwen was a grandma of an unspecified number of grandchildren two and under. Becky was a grandma wannabe. The two friends talked about the limits of how much they want to include grandchildren in their plans.
Gwen said that during a recent trip, her husband had talked about the possibility of bringing their two-year-old granddaughter along on a similar trip. Gwen had reminded him that they had said that they weren’t going to be “that kind of grandparents” who brought the grandkids along. Her husband also suggested that they rent a house and vacation with their whole family. Gwen said that that was too many people. [Hogwash in my opinion!]
As the ladies agreed about their limits, I remembered my own sweet experience the day before. I’m not setting myself up as a better Grandma than Gwen, but I feel sad about what she is missing. Every moment a mama spends with her child is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. That’s true for grandmas, too.
Among your many blessings to count this Thanksgiving, I hope you will count your many once-in-a-lifetime moments.
. . . always giving thanks for all things
in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ
to God, even the Father . . . .
Ephesians 5:20