Category Archives: Holidays

Protecting the Dream

CAUTION: Contains frank talk about Santa. You’ve been warned.

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I’m ambivalent about Santa. I never believed in Santa as a child. Paul didn’t either, and when we talked about it we generally decided we’d go along if they picked it up from other people, but wouldn’t lie if asked a direct question. (I’m a terrible liar, so this was a good practical decision if nothing else.) So these past few years at our house, Santa filled the stockings, but that was it.

santa-claus

Earlier this year, the boys came to me together and braced me on The Santa Question.

“Um,” I said, a little wildly, “What do you think?”

“We think he’s not real,” they said. “Are we right?”

“Well, you are. Sort of. Santa, the guy who wears a red suit and lives at the North Pole is not a real guy. But really Santa is an idea. He’s the idea of unselfish love and giving. Every time you give a gift and don’t expect anything in return, you’re part of The Santa Idea.”

They seemed fine with that, if unimpressed.

“Will we still get presents?”

Reassured, they tore off in search of other myths to bust. Realizing I’d missed a crucial point, I called them back.

“This is VERY IMPORTANT,” I said. “Santa is an idea, and a lot of people, especially kids at school, still believe. If someone believes in Santa, YOU do not tell them he is not real. That is not your job. You let them believe.”

A short philosophical wrangle ensued regarding the nature of truth and the importance of kindness, but when they finally took off I was pretty sure they’d cooperate.

Soon after Thanksgiving, one of them reported that someone in his class still believed in Santa, and he hadn’t said anything different. “Excellent!” I said.

This last Friday, Emily came to babysit for the day. Emily goes to church with us and sings on the worship team. She’s in college and consequently happy to pick up extra cash when the opportunity presents itself. She finds the boys mostly amusing and hasn’t yet developed a desperate need to wash her hair when I call with a possible babysitting gig.

Yesterday, as we sat in the music office between Christmas Eve services, she told me she’d been asking the boys about the upcoming extravaganza.

“Are you excited?” she asked.

Oh, yes, they were, they said, hopping up and down like frogs high on pixie sticks.

“And what did you ask Santa for?”

“Santa’s not r…” Elias got out, before Levi cut him off.

“ELIAS,” he said, in the loudest stage whisper in the known universe, “SHHHHH. SHE DOESN’T KNOW.”

And so they pretended for her.

Bless their sweet hilarious little hearts. We’re still working on when it’s appropriate to punch your brother (HARDLY EVER YOU GUYS), but they do know how to be nice. Only to other people, I guess, but it’s a start.

Sixteen Minutes to Christmas

It’s sixteen minutes to Christmas. Everyone else has been in bed for awhile, the boys in their new (to us) Mario pajamas.

The stockings are ready (the ones for Mom and Dad are stuffed with fruit from the bowl on the counter to make them look full; I love a good banana for Christmas), the presents are under the tree, and I am sitting here with my feet up.

I was part of four Christmas Eve services at church today, and I was at the church for just over eight hours. There were a lot of opportunities for people to ask me if I was ready for Christmas.

You know, to my own surprise, I am.

We have candlelight services, and one of my favorite parts – I know this is a little weird – is the smell in the sanctuary when a service is over. A few hundred people have just blown out their candles and are heading out the door, chattering to their families about dinner. If you stand there in the sanctuary and take a deep breath, you can fill up your lungs with the wisps of smoke. It smells like Christmas to me.

I’ve been in the congregation when the light is passed down the rows from one person to the next, and I loved it.

But if you’re on stage, you get to watch from a little bit above as the light starts with just one candle in the front, and spreads out and fills up the room. Best seat in the house. 

Photo credit: Jordyn Benter

It’s four minutes to Christmas now. I’m ready.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Better 

I discovered this week that I have readers I didn’t know about. Mostly because people kept asking me if I was feeling better. Apparently they read my little December rant a few days ago. (This is probably useful as an early warning system to allow people to approach me with caution.)

Anyway, the answer is yes. I am feeling better.

Maybe not quite as gleeful as that picture would indicate, but coping.

So how did that happen, exactly?

I suspect that I’m not the only person who has ever descended into a funk and had to find a way out. I suspect that I’m not the only person doing it right now. So here are some of the things that I do. These are not new ideas. They’re all things that people told me to try along the way.

***THIS IS IMPORTANT***
These are just things you can try if you are in a funk. If you are clinically depressed, what you really need is help from a professional. Even though it’s scary and upsetting and you don’t want to believe that you need it.

I can tell you this because I have been down in that scary dark hole, and I did not find the way out on my own. I got help. If you think maybe you need help and you don’t know what to do, I would be happy to point you to some places you can start. No one will ever know that you asked. (Despite my general lifestyle of oversharing, I can keep my mouth shut when it counts.)
***

So here are the things I did this week. If you are having a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good week (or month or whatever), maybe one of them will help you, too.

  • I stopped pretending.

    I have this friend Jan. She loves Christmas. I think it’s her favorite thing, seriously. She wants Christmas to start in August.

    I am never going to be like Jan.

    There is a lot to enjoy about the Christmas season, I find, as long as I am not pretending it’s going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I find December difficult, but I can find things to appreciate and enjoy even in difficult seasons. The minute I stopped pretending I would ever reach Jan-like levels of joy, I felt better.

    It’s okay not to be okay sometimes. It’s okay to tell someone that you’re not okay. (You don’t have to publish it to the world like I do. You can just tell a friend.)

  • I took care of myself.

    There are things that I do on a regular basis that I know will make me feel better. When I get in a funk, I find it harder to do these things. (Kind of seems like a mean trick from the universe, no?) It helps if you have someone who will gently encourage you in this. Paul is pretty good at this. “How can I help you get to the gym today, dear? You’ll be much easier to live with feel much better if you do.”

    This looks a little different for everybody, and has changed for me over time. Right now, taking care of myself looks like getting to bed early, lifting weights three times a week, and not eating things that numb feelings on the way down and cause regret later. A treat is a good idea. An entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in a single sitting just causes nausea (physical AND metaphorical).

  • I decided to forgive myself.

    For not being Mrs. Claus, for being kind of a mess, and for the pint of Ben and Jerry’s, even though I knew better. I’ve discovered that I can’t hate myself into being a better person. (SPOILER: You can’t either.) Today will be a lot better if I forgive myself the imperfections and idiocies of yesterday.

  • I accomplished something.

    I picked something very, very small that I needed to do. Then I went and did it. A lot of a blue funk for me is the feeling of drowning under all the stuff I need to get done. Moving one thing off the list, even a teeny tiny thing, makes me feel less hopeless. And it makes me feel like I can tackle the next thing.

  • I found something to look forward to. 

    In this case, I actually went ahead and created something to look forward to. I texted two girlfriends and said, “I need something to look forward to. Can we have dinner in early January?” (Note that sending this text required not pretending that I was okay.)

    This is not to say I am not looking forward to all the holiday things happening in December. I am. All those events, though, carry expectations about what I will bring or do or be. Some of those expectations are external, from other people, and some of them are internal, from me. Either way, they’re real, and they are a large part of what gives me the crazy eyes this time of year. There are just too many ways to disappoint people.

    I can look forward to this dinner unreservedly because  I don’t have to bring or do or be anything particular. I believe if I were to show up in pajama pants and three-day old hair and cry through dinner, I would be offered not censure, but empathy. (Also probably cheese dip.) This might not sound like a party to you, but to me it sounds like freedom.

 

That’s it.

It’s a lot of common sense, I think, but occasionally I get so busy freaking out that I cannot locate any kind of sense. It helps to have a list. Hope it helps you, too, if you need it.

 

 

Running Late

I realized this morning as I was stomping around the kitchen that I’m running a little late. I checked to be sure, and it’s true. It’s December 7, and I haven’t posted my annual I-hate-Christmas rant. In past years, these have appeared on either the first or third day of December. (In 2014, it wasn’t a dedicated post, so I logged the first mention of my rotten holiday attitude.)

I have been trying so hard this year, for real. It turns out – And why do I have to keep re-learning this? – that pretending something is not true does not make it easier to deal with. While there is a lot to be said for faking it till you’re making it as a path to a better attitude, pretending that I’m merry doesn’t magically disappear all the extra stuff that has to happen in December, and it doesn’t make me feel any more sane.

I was looking for a picture of the Grinch to use with this post, but I don’t think I am the Grinch. I don’t want to take Christmas away from other people. I want Cindy Lou Who to party down (as long as I don’t have to come because I am exhausted).

You know who I feel like? I feel like Horton. Christmas is the egg and I am doing my best to keep it warm. I look ridiculous and I’m as uncomfortable as an elephant up a tree, but I’m going to hatch this blasted egg if it kills me.

screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-9-26-38-am

I will. I WILL HATCH CHRISTMAS.

I will not pretend that it’s my favorite thing. I am tired and I have a headache and I think I’ve had a cold since Halloween and apropos of nothing I really miss my mom. She didn’t like Christmas either, so maybe I just want someone to tell me I came by it honestly.

Oddly, I feel a lot better just saying this out loud. December is hard, but I can do hard things. It will be fine. All of the things will happen, or they won’t, and January will come and the kids will go back to school and life will settle back into whatever passes for normal around here.

And if I wish that we could just skip December altogether, well, that’s my problem.

Onward and upward!

Das Neu Tannenbaum

Today’s Advent activity, announced this morning to shrieks of joy, was to put up the Christmas tree.

I won’t lie. I have dreaded this every year. It’s always a circus around here, but add in easily tangled lights and breakable ornaments and a kind of high-strung mother especially in December (I never admitted that and I’ll deny it to my last breath), and it’s a little stressful. The tree when it’s done is nice, but the process has not been.

Mothers of toddlers who are trying to have Really Good Christmases (if you’re a regular reader you know we gave up on Perfect Christmases a long time ago) and to let the little darlings help decorate the tree, this is my message to you: HANG ON, SISTER. It gets better. This year, when we were all done, I turned to my sister and said, “Wow. That wasn’t bad at all. Actually, it was kind of fun.”

Also, we are not attaching the tree to the wall this year and I think there’s like a 60% chance it won’t get knocked down. Major progress.

We got a new Christmas tree this year. We don’t do live trees because convincing Paul to go out and get a live tree and haul it home is not on the list of things I can currently handle. Also because a fake one you can get from Amazon Prime. Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.

Levi was a little confused, though. “Mom! There’s something wrong with our tree!”

I explained about fluffing, and they got busy.

There was a bad moment when two strings of lights turned out not to work at all, and we thought that Christmas might be RUINED RUINED I SAY. But Mama plans ahead and sometimes that even works, and this was one of those times. I had a huge string of lights stored that we’d never used because I figured this would happen one day.

Phew.

So they got after the ornaments. This year, they heeded my exhortations and did not hang all the ornaments on one branch. They were tall enough to reach almost the entire tree. It was awesome.

 

When we were all ready, they said Auntie could do the star because she’s never had a turn. They even held her up so she could reach.

All done.

Okay, FINE. I’ll admit it. It’s one of my favorite things, when the tree is lit and you can turn all the lights off and sit with just the tree on. Even my Grinchy heart can’t hold out against it.

We’ve told Elias about his first Christmas, and how he was fascinated by the lights. I’d just let him lie under the tree and he’d stare up at the lights and coo. It was darling. So he crawled under tonight and said, “Was it like this?”

Auntie and Levi got down there with him to hang out and talk.

L: This is a good day to do the tree because it’s so dark!
E: Yeah! I like when it’s all lit up when we go to bed.
A: That’s when Mama gets all lit up, too.
Me:  … Seriously?
E: What does that mean?
A and Me, simultaneously: NOTHING.

A: What was your favorite thing last year?
E: Bringing a present home to Mama from school.
L: My Christmas party at school. We played Pin the Nose on Olaf!
A: What do you think your mama’s favorite thing is?
E: Buying presents and making her kids happy.
A: … I think you nailed it, buddy.

E: Hey Mom. You know last year on Christmas Eve when you put out the presents? Levi got out of bed and felt his present.
A: Ohhhhh, my. Did he now?
E: Yeah. And … and … I went with him.

Powwow

Paul took the boys away to a cabin for a couple of nights over the holiday weekend. People have been asking what I’m doing with myself. Mostly cleaning and decluttering like a woman possessed. Yes, I know I should take some time to relax, but you know what really helps me relax? A clean house with clear surfaces. I mean, I think it would. I don’t really remember.

People are sometimes surprised to learn that we adopted Levi, but almost never that we adopted Elias. The exception is a very drunk Russian guy who talked to Paul on the beach in Florida while the boys were examining a gopher turtle, looked the boys over carefully, looked at Paul, and said, “Aaaaaaaaahhhh. You have two womens!” (Paul politely said no, he could just barely manage the one, thanks.)

People are further startled on occasion by how bluntly we refer to color in our family. I think* this is the right thing to do. If we never mentioned the fact that some of the people in our family are brown and some are pinkish, that would be weirder than talking about it. “I don’t see color” sounds nice if you don’t think about it very hard, but it’s a fact, and not talking about it doesn’t make it not matter. More than anything, I don’t want him to grow up thinking there’s something wrong with it. Which is what happens a lot of the time if nobody talks about stuff – it gets this weird, forbidden feel to it.

Elias is, as far as we know, a full-blooded native South American. So when Paul found a North American native powwow, he knew it wasn’t quite on point, but it’s a lot closer than a Swiss Anabaptist potluck dinner. Not that there’s anything wrong with those; the pies alone are a major draw.

What a time they had.

These kind folks are Gentle Dove and Blueeye. They led Elias through some of the dances.

I’ve heard a lot lately about how we’re all living in silos. We watch the news channel that reinforces our worldview, we talk to the neighbors who think like we do, and we don’t worry too much about the people who disagree with us because clearly they are wrong. Or stupid. At the very least, they are not like us, and getting to know them would be, well, a lot of work. Who needs it?

I wasn’t there to say it in person, but I would like to thank you, Gentle Dove and Blueeye and all the rest of you, for bothering. Thank you for inviting my boys to the dance.

Even the pinkish one.

 

 

 

*It’s parenting, so really, I have no idea. We’re just trundling along doing the best we can at any particular moment in time.

Tree Day

We decorated the tree today. It is a fake tree, which no doubt makes the purists despair.

There were fisticuffs over this ornament. Levi was furious because Elias was trying to hang it. Apparently Mama has to hang that one because “she loves music!”

Elias wanted to hang all of the ornaments himself, because they’re all so beautiful. (Applied indiscriminately to my favorite blown glass ornaments and the misshapen colored-dough candy canes from a few years ago.)

All of the ceramic ones with their sweet baby faces are hanging at the top of the tree, in a desperate bid to avoid their total destruction.

There are branches with mad clusters of ornaments …

… and large stretches of branches with no ornaments at all.

What I am saying, guys, is that my Christmas tree is a hot mess.

AND I LOVE IT.