Now I Am Ready...

I have been doing a bit (and hearing a bit) of Christmas griping lately.  I will admit that I was annoyed when the Christmas music was playing on the radio and in the stores well before Thanksgiving.  I have bristled at the Christmas-themed commercials on television telling me and my children that we need to go out and buy holiday-scented toilet paper, battery-operated, musical earmuffs, and the like.   I have rebelled against my own Christmas-loving nature since I do not like to have commercialized Christmas jammed down my throat before I've even had time to properly digest the Halloween candy that I stole from my kids' trick-or-treat bags.

But today felt different since a somewhat unexpected winter storm converged upon us last night.  When we woke up, it looked like this in my front yard...

School was delayed two hours, so there was extra time for morning chit-chat, hot breakfasts and crawling back into bed with our resident-little squirt to watch Blue's Clues before the school bus came.  Later in the day, Lili's best buddy Mae came over for a visit.  I cranked up the Christmas music voluntarily and the three of us danced like crazy in the kitchen for nearly half an hour.  It looked and felt like Christmas, and I didn't even feel the least bit compelled to go online and buy a digital talking blender/ bread machine.  Imagine that!

After I'd had my fill of squealing, singing, and delighted jumping with the wee ones, we decided to go down to the basement and start bringing up the Christmas decorations.  Decorating for Christmas is always a process at our house.  It happens bit by bit, and the first bits have begun to happen now.  I carefully unwrapped a few of my favorite Christmas things like the slightly ugly, green macrame "Noel" sign made by my grandmother as well as the six blond choir boys that adorned that same grandmother's Christmas mantle every year.

How I love those choir boys!  Each year they stood above my grandparents' fireplace, surrounded by plastic holly leaves, holding their little hymnals whilst silently singing their hearts out.  Now they stand on my living room mantle with their same innocent faces, wide eyes, and mouths rounded into perfect O's.  Today I happened to notice that one of the boys had a crack in his face and a chipped hymnal, and it made me love him just a little bit more.  He has lived through many Christmases, and I think it is somewhat appropriate that he no longer looks perfect.  Christmas is not about perfection.

The little cracked choir boy will not be dismissed to the trash because, in many ways, his cracks and chips make him more lovely and interesting.
  

The very first Christmas seemed far from perfect according to our modern holiday standards.  There weren't any singing, ice skating snowmen or hot deals on the latest electronics.  There was a humble girl giving birth in a "nasty barn" far from home.  The scenario hardly seems worthy of celebration, but we do celebrate in all sorts of unusual ways.  When I think about the first Christmas (not the version that we've romanticized in storybooks with rosy-cheeked shepherd boys and carol-singing livestock), and when I compare that scene to our modern day, materialistic frenzy, I realize that my annoyance at this time of year does not reflect a lack of real "Christmas Spirit."

Yes, we will have red-nosed reindeer, twinkling lights, and bouncy children who are hopped up on candy canes at my house.  Of course I will embrace all of those things, but not because my television told me that it was time.  In addition to cookie decorating and jingle bell ringing, we will have times of stillness for reading and reflecting.  We will share our cares and our questions about the great mysteries of this life, and we will quietly marvel at the faith and hope expressed by those characters who were part of the very first Christmas so many years ago.

My sincerest gratitude goes out to the snow for opening my heart as I opened my front door and felt its silent, wintry beauty fill my senses.  Now I am ready for Christmas.

“Let us keep Christmas beautiful 

Without a thought of greed, 

That it might live forevermore

To fill our every need, 

That it shall not be just a day, 

But last a lifetime through, 

The miracle of Christmastime

That brings God close to you” 

~Ann Schultz

Turkey for Me, Turkey for You...

We've had another beautiful Thanksgiving and hope that you have too.  Lili celebrated the day with a festive neck scarf which she insisted upon wearing at the dinner table.  Friends shared the cooking duties (and feasting joys) with us, and we dined on all of the traditional favorites including a large turkey who previously lived less than a hour away and was gobbling his little heart out a week ago.  He was very fresh indeed, and everyone agreed that he tasted like he had led a very happy life.

We are continuing the celebrations all through this weekend with leftovers, board games, special blessings, and public reflections on gratitude.  Emma and Sophie have enjoyed the Thanksgiving Alphabet Game wherein we go through the alphabet naming things for which we are grateful.  Lili contributed that she was thankful for "Elmo's World" even though the rest of us were on letter "P."

None of us engage in the frenzy of Black Friday typically.   Today was spent playing games, clearing out things we no longer need, and enjoying a lovely afternoon in the November sunshine.  Sophie and I took and walk and daydreamed aloud about our holiday menu fantasies while Lili, being pushed in her stroller, finally succumbed to an afternoon nap.  Nothing terribly mind-blowing about the day, but I think we all feel nourished and content.

"God has two dwellings; one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart."  ~Izaak Walton

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

Hey Boys and Girls! The Word of the Day is: Conundrum!

Children are a conundrum.  I said it.  When they are babies, they require every ounce of energy a mother can summon...and then some.  When they are babies, we mothers find ourselves wishing on occasion that we didn't have to do every bloomin' thing in the world for them.  We rejoice when our babies complete tasks independently for the first time.  Recently I have found myself becoming ridiculously impressed with my two-year-old's jumping skills.  One day she just learned to jump with both feet like a professional kangaroo, and I was dazzled.

Now my two year old can do all sorts of things independently.  She can feed herself for example.  The little genius peels her own bananas and clementines.  She also pushes a small chair around my house and gains access to "up high" things that used to require mom's help to acquire.  She dresses herself in completely mismatched clothes and cowboy boots.  Most of the time this is all great.  Most of the time I applaud her independence and cleverness, but I confess that I sometimes miss that little person who needed me just a little bit more.  I miss the agreeable baby who accepted my help and my choices regarding what was best without any arguments.   And maybe I spring to my feet and respond to her impassioned shouts of, "I NEED HELP!!" just a little too quickly since those requests seem to come less and less often.

Fast forward a few years.
I have been reading bedtime stories to all of my children since before they were old enough to understand what was even going on.  My oldest daughter Emma and I have been climbing into bed with great works of children's literature every night as part of our evening ritual for the last nine years.  We've read about big hungry bears, big red dogs, and little houses in big woods.  Within the last couple of years dragons and wizards have become part of our reading repertoire and have gripped my daughter's interest quite earnestly.  Truth be told, I really like reading about the dragons and wizards too, which is why it pains me so greatly to admit that our nightly reading ritual has been crumbling over the last six months or so.

It seems that I have, over the course of the last nine and a half years, fostered a love of reading in my daughter.  This was, of course, the main objective of our ritual story times.  I remember saying to her a year or so ago, "One day you won't want me to read to you anymore, and that will be very sad for me."  She insisted that that day would never come. Twenty years from now I will surely be driving to her house each evening and crawling in bed between her and her husband so that we can all enjoy the next chapter of the latest Jackie Collins novel read aloud by me (with all of the voices), right?  Perhaps not.

Actually, most definitely not.  She informed me quite casually one evening this summer, "I don't want a story tonight.  I'm just going to read to myself."  And now she does this just about every night, sometimes staying up far later than she should to find out how things will turn out for Harry, Ron and Hermione.  And although my heart breaks just a little bit when I think about the fact that I am not attending Hogwarts with her through the pages of those fantastic novels, I remind myself that I have helped my daughter discover the joys of reading independently.

There are still some nights when she asks, "Could you read me just a few pages tonight?"  And I spring to my feet perhaps just a little too quickly because I never know when the last request will come.

When I was a teacher I had the same laminated poster on the front of my desk each year.  The poster showed a photograph of a monarch butterfly and this motto: The object of teaching is to enable the child to get along without the teacher.  That declaration inspired me when I was a teacher.  It reminded me to think of my students and future-adults, to inspire them to ask their own questions and think for themselves.  Being a parent is much the same except only a million times harder.  As a teacher, I got a fresh batch of adoring fourth graders every year.  As a mom I get to watch that kid who used to be my adoring little buddy, roll her eyes and me and declare, "Ugh!  You just don't understand me!!"

Of course I want my children to grow up and learn to be their own wonderful people.  That is my sincere desire.  The crazy part is that as I watch them grow and become, I feel proud, sad, jubilant and heartbroken all at once.   See?  A complete and worthwhile conundrum.

Seasonal Stupidity OR "Mom, You're Like the Opposite of a Vampire."

I have been stuggling this week.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I haven't even had enough "R" in me to struggle properly.  Thus, I stuggle.  Every year I stuggle right around this time as the days begin to get shorter.  It would appear that my brain and body truly need sunshine to function properly.  When the daily sunshine levels begin to decline, I feel as though a fog has settled over my brain.  All operations slow dramatically as my energy levels plummet.  I feel sad and overwhelmed.  This happens every year.

I've tried slapping myself in the face and shouting, "Snap out of it!" a la Cher in Moonstruck, but that hasn't seemed to do the trick.  In the past spending early morning time in front of my old friend, the light therapy box and upping my intake of Omega 3 fish oils has been helpful in combating my seasonal depression.  Early in the morning I shockingly do not feel like standing in front of a blinding artificial light source.  Every cell in my body seems to be pleading with me, "Just go back to bed!  It's so warm and cozy there!"

I am proud to say that I fight those persuasive, pleading cells since, in this case, the voices in my head are not telling me what I really need to hear.  I force myself to get out of bed.  Alley-oop!  I greet my two older children with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and I make breakfast for them while that blindingly bright light box spills its artificial luminescence all over the kitchen.  On Wednesday morning my daughter Sophie turned on music, which at first seemed loud, repellant and highly inappropriate at such an early hour.  I immediately turned it off and then thought better of it.  I turned it on again and just stood still for a moment while I felt the light and the rhythm of John Denver thanking God for his status as a country boy fill my insides.  As the faux glow of my lamp and the musical elements of John's rollicking hymn of gratitude settled within me, I felt the fog lifting, and an energetic warmth returned to my core.

A couple of minutes later, scrambled eggs were on everyone's plates, and we were all singing along with Freddie Mercury, "Oooh, you make me live.  Whatever this world can give to me, it's you, you're all I see..."  And suddenly it was a great day.  I was just about ready to go and see a doctor to ask about anti-depressants and melatonin supplements, when my daughter inadvertently discovered the rejuvenating power of "Music Therapy" when coupled with light therapy.

I don't expect that this will be the end of my winter woes, but for now I plan to carry on with this regimen of self-care.  Anyone else out there experience Seasonal Affective Disorder?  (It sounds so fancy and important when we call it by its proper name.)  I am open to any other tips or helpful advice, so please, comment away!

A Bit of Seasonal Fun... Right on Schedule

My life has been a bit stressful and serious lately which is why Halloween came at a very convenient time this year.  It is difficult to feel gloomy when introducing a toddler to her very first jack-o-lantern.  Wouldn't you agree?

(The eerie shadow on the left was totally intentional.  I am an excellent photographer.)

And even though I am a self-proclaimed hater of crafts, and pumpkin carving is clearly crafty, gathering round the table with my family, each of us wielding sharp knives, made me feel very happy and loved.  With my husband's artistic pattern I was even able to carve this top notch Cookie Monster-o-lantern making my excited toddler even more excited...

My nine-year-old impressed us all with her super cool dragon-lantern.  She worked tirelessly (and probably a bit too late into the school night) on this fantastic design.  She is a little bit of a rock star fireball, you know.

All of this wonderfulness happened the night before Halloween, so there was still a whole other day and night of fun to look forward to.  I spent most of the day on Halloween arguing with my two-year-old, who was in rare form.  At one point, I snarled at her, "You are supposed to dress as a monster today, not act like one!!" 

She replied fiercely, "I NOT A MONSTER!!"  Later, after she kicked me in the shins and pulled my hair, I put her in "Time Out," and told her that she could just stay there until she was ready to be nice.  Moments later blood-boiling roars could be heard coming from her room.  "I READY BE NICE!!" those roars declared, but she wasn't.

Finally on the way back from dropping off a Halloween snack at my second grader's classroom, the monster fell asleep, and I felt confident that she'd be a new girl when she awoke.  Perhaps I shouldn't have been so confident.  The little girl who woke up informed me with great certainty that she, "NO like tricky treat!"  In the end, her sister Sophia convinced her to put on a costume.  At the last minute, she decided that she wanted to be a cow because a cow has a tail, and Lili is a bit obsessed about tails lately.  She will tell you all about her tail obsession (in the third person) if you ask.  She informed me at least fifteen times last night, "Mama, Lili have a tail now.  Lili a Cow!"

Thank God for big sisters!

When it actually came time for the "tricky treating" to commence, Lili changed her tune.  Neighbors and strangers stopped to compliment her on how cute she was, and she didn't mind that one bit.  She very quickly learned to greet everyone, "Happy Halloween!" and helped herself to multiple handfuls of treats at each house.  After a round of trick-or-treating with Dad and another with Mom, the older girls decided they were cold and satisfied with their loot.  We headed back home.  When we hit our driveway, Lili stopped dead in her tracks.  She pulled my arm and declared defiantly, "NO!  Let's go more tricky treat!!"  I bribed her with chocolate milk to avoid a terrifying scene and got her back into the house.

Everyone got into bed eventually.  I was exhausted in that satisfying, contented sort of way, and I got to sleep next this this guy all night...

...and of course the little cow crawled in between us at some point in the wee hours.

Happy Halloween, Friends!