December Light

Happy December! By the hardest, I’ve been holding myself back from thinking about December for a while — from thinking about the Christmas holidays. It IS hard. And not necessarily because the excitement is overwhelming, but because the busy-ness and preparations and schedule can be overwhelming. And because all the hullabaloo the holiday brings tends to encroach on my rest and my peace of mind sometimes.

Just before Thanksgiving, I was in the local Wal-Mart picking up items for Bug’s 5-year-old birthday party. I wanted to get a few extra gift items for him and also some “big brother” and “big sister” gifts for the other two. I think that’s when the impending holiday season hit me — right about the time I turned onto the toy aisle. To say it was overwhelming is an understatement, for sure. My mind immediately went into overload with the number of options for Christmas presents. I flittered from one item to the next thinking how one would love this or one would love that. My brain filled up with a low-grade panic because I didn’t yet have a “plan” for getting Christmas presents or doing teacher gifts or baking goodies or putting up decorations. I had to shake my head at myself right there on aisle 17. I had to tell myself to snap out of it and focus on the birthday at hand.

That’s when I decided that I wanted Christmas to be different this year. Sometimes I over-plan or over-work or over-schedule myself right into a serious case of Bah Humbug or at the least a case of wanting a long winter’s nap during this season. Sadly, there have been times when it made me happy to see the festivities come to an end.

With changes and challenges and the plethora that comes with mommyhood and designerhood, I found myself perhaps dreading the holiday season. But, here’s the thing. I’m a celebration-junkie. I like to celebrate. I like to create and enjoy traditions that celebrate and elevate the simple splendor of everyday life — and especially the simple splendors of a Christmas Christ child on a bed of hay. I don’t want that spirit to be dampened in my heart, in my home, in my life. I don’t want Christmas to get so lost in a sea of preparations that I miss the opportunity to see it, much less celebrate it.

The true celebration of Christmas has the uncanny ability to bring a unique light to the winter of life. From a miraculous child and astonished herdsmen to questioning sages and a guiding star, the story of Christmas can bring clarity from it’s sheer simplicity and humility. This month so often sheds light, a pure and clear light. One that opens up our eyes of wonder. The wonder that makes us step outside our tired thinking to believe in possibilities. The wonder that makes us curious. The wonder that gives us courage to follow the light set before us. The wonder that makes us seek our own light found in the unlikeliest of places.

So, I’m starting this December with my guard up. So that I can keep my heart open to the season’s light. I’m guarding my time so that I can choose to focus on the best things and activities and people. I want my children to know this celebration, not just their busy and frazzled mommy. I want them to see this light and wonder for themselves. And I want to see the light myself. And wonder.

I hope YOUR days, this December are “merry and bright.” Feel free to click and download this month’s desktop wallpaper calendar or iPhone/iPad wallpapers. I’m also beginning a 25 Days of Light posting series over at my Plop! blog to share photos of Christmas light. Feel free to click by!

Wise Men

The Magi. I’ve been gravitating to their part in the Christmas story this season. Wise men are kind of a rare breed. To be known through history for the trait of wisdom is pretty impressive in this age of rampant information. We live in a time of unprecedented knowledge, but I see all around me the impact of foolishness. Christmas is usually a time of reflection for me. There is usually a break in my work routine and traveling to visit family. The time away from my own place and schedule somehow gives my heart and mind the space to evaluate. In what seems like life in constant motion, that brief respite to pause and think is a blessing. It helps me see with fresher eyes.

As I’ve been looking at this past year, I can’t help but notice change. And with all the hardship that surrounds change, I can’t help but recognize the opportunity that comes with it. But, opportunity requires wisdom, that rare commodity. Wisdom is often the difference between short-term and long-term, between past and future, between good and best. And so, these nameless figures from an age-old story come to mind. These humans whose actions seem almost implausible and even foolish at times. And yet, they are known simply as “wise men.” Men of prestige who were satisfied and even humbled in worship before a small child. These men who came and went on their way, having recognized God. I find their story fascinating. And I find their journey worth pursuing.

They were wisdom-seekers in a mystic tradition that was centuries old spanning many cultures and historical accounts. And because they were wisdom-seekers by trade, people seemed to assume they had it. World leaders and kingdom makers sought them to advise or divine or justify their decisions. The biblical account of the birth of Jesus doesn’t give us much information about these particular wise men. Over the centuries Christendom has imbued them with details that may not have really been true at that defining point in history. In my varied nativity scenes and storybook illustrations, there are only three of them. They rode on camels and visited the holy family in a stable. They were multi-racial and dressed in fine and brilliant colors, and always with crowns of some kind or another. Noone knows how and when they really arrived on the scene in Bethlehem, but in thinking about these unknown figures, I’m stilled by some important realities about a life characterized by wisdom. Some that surprised me.

Meaning mattered.
These men had positioned their whole lives in a mindset of meaning. It was the backdrop to all their days and to the singular experience with the Christ child. I heard a quote once that said you don’t find meaning. You give meaning. The magi spent their lives giving meaning and significance to events and natural phenomena and people.  It brought order and power to their world. It enabled them to see, to follow and ultimately to worship.

They were searching.
They noticed the course-altering star because they were looking. It’s not like a star shines in the sky for one man to see. The light radiates indiscriminantly. The difference is that these men had trained their gaze to find it. So often we are so entrenched in knowing the answers that we see no value in searching. And, admittedly, sometimes there is no place like Christianity for assuming a choke-hold on answers. Why do we diminish the process of seeking and searching as a lesser and distracted pursuit? The only way to find is to seek.

They recognized importance when they saw it.
They recognized significance. Something in their mystic training program or in their own experience told them the star they saw mattered. They had paid enough attention to see that it was different from what they’d known in their searching of the skies. They were able to discern that for them in that moment, the star was important.

They followed significance with unencumbered action.
This is so often the hard part. When we recognize that something matters, that it’s important, how do we respond? Significance involves determining what really matters to me, what qualifies my baseline of the life I feel I need to live. To grasp that significance and hold it often requires change. It often requires letting go, moving from where I am. The Magi followed the star. It was likely a long journey and an unexpected one. But, they loaded the camels (or whatever mode of transportation) and left. The significance they saw fueled their desire to know what this star was about. To find the meaning behind it. They were prepared enough to be unencumbered in moving. And they were prepared and expectant enough to load the gifts as well.

They didn’t lose sight of their vision.
The wise men had a picture of their destination. A hazy one, but a picture. They held firmly to what their heart recognized in seeing the star. They were looking for a king. And they met a legitimate king–Herod. Obviously, they were men of prestige and possibly renown. They probably were men of wealth and prominence. They were ushered into the king’s palace, after all. Apparently without much effort, they gained a direct audience with the ruler to ask their questions. But they recognized he wasn’t the one they were seeking. They didn’t break out the frankincense for Herod.

But, when the time was right, they were ready to give their gifts.
Trusting our own vision is so hard sometimes. Circumstances and the opinions of others push and pull and try to mold a vision we don’t recognize. But, my significance is mine. What’s valuable to me matters. It takes courage and resolve to stick with it.  The Magi trusted the sign post placed in the sky before them even though it probably seemed unlikely. Whatever small and seemingly insignificant situation they found Jesus in when the star rested its journey, they didn’t hesitate to open their treasures there. They weren’t enamored by wealth and prestige. They weren’t deterred by meager circumstances. They weren’t dictated by the assumptions of others. They recognized a situation and a person worthy of everything they had brought. And they gave it.

I’m on this same journey. Somewhere. I haven’t determined exactly where at the moment. But it’s my journey this season. A journey of significance. A journey of meaning. A journey of vision. A journey of giving. A journey of recognizing. A journey of choosing. A journey of moving. A journey of seeking. A journey of following. A journey of finding. A journey of worshiping. I’m on this journey. Aren’t we all?

The Dollhouse

“Is that a house?”

We were spending the night at my parents’ home recently, and Little Drummer Boy was looking at the top of a chifferobe in the room where he and Bug sleep. My Mom keeps my childhood dollhouse there, and I think it was the first time Little Drummer Boy had really noticed it. When he found out the house was mine, LDB immediately wanted to play with it. I let him know that the house had too many small pieces inside it to be safe for Baby Girl and that it was better to leave it on the shelf for now. But, I explained that G-Mo had given me the dollhouse when I was little and that I would probably give it to Baby Girl one day when she is old enough to enjoy it.

“But, I won’t be able to play with it then.”

I assuaged his concern with the argument that he could play with the dollhouse WITH Baby Girl–that she would really love that and he would have lots of fun. I’ve witnessed that she does indeed relish the attentions of her oldest brother. However, it was one of those moments when I wasn’t sure if I had actually told him the truth. Little Drummer Boy is quite interested in the dollhouse now. But, that won’t always be true. By the time I decide to pass on this little chapter of Mommy-history, that may not be the case any longer. In three or four years when Baby Girl is old enough to be inspired by a well-furnished and appointed dollhouse, I’m not sure Little Drummer Boy will want to give it the same attention he did on this night. He will likely have moved on to past-times more of interest to an older boy. And their opportunity to play “together” with it may be nothing more than an older brother giving momentary indulgence to his baby sister. If that. I don’t even like to think about it.

I’m an only child, and although I don’t think I fit many of the stereotypes attributed to that family set-up, I find myself paying close attention to the dynamics between my children. The whole brother and sister thing is actually quite baffling to me. And, as I notice each of their ever-changing stages, I’m constantly trying to figure it out. I try to discover how to build their relationships with one another and still nuture their individual gifts and fascinations. And, even though we come as a set, I find myself still figuring out how to build my individual and unique relationship with each of them. As an only child, that relationship with MY mother was easy. I want them to have it too, even though they each share me with the others. I want them to have the assurances that I love and treasure each of them as individuals and that I’m so proud of each of their gifts and accomplishments. I want each to carry with them those moments when they know I was all theirs, that I really saw them and heard them.

This Christmas, as I ponder their sweet conversations, their moments of play together and even their moments of tussling, that dollhouse takes center stage in my mind.

Santa Claus brought me the dollhouse when I was young. But, even in my assurance of the jolly elf’s existence, in my willingness to overlook the fact that my grandparents didn’t have a chimney, in my amazement at the cookie plate filled with only crumbs each Christmas morning, somewhere in my heart I knew. I knew that this dollhouse was from my mother.

The blue and white two-story house came completely unfinished on the inside. Although there were Chippendale chairs, a Victorian sofa, a porcelain sink, tiny candlesticks, metal spatterwear for the table and even a Christmas tree and wreath, the walls and floors and windows were bare. Along with the house, there was a collection of wallpaper, fabric samples and ribbons as part of Christmas–materials waiting to appoint the rooms to my satisfaction. My Mom let me choose the colors and fabrics for each room and helped me hang the wallpaper, fashion the curtains and arrange the furniture. It was the perfect way to give a dollhouse to a girl with my early design sensibilities and my penchant toward nesting. But, the true gift Mom gave me that year was the special time she created for me to spend with her enjoying that dollhouse. In meaning and memory, it stands out among all the wonderfully “perfect” gifts Santa brought over the years. Mom made the process just as powerful as the final product. The lasting power came through the experience she carved out.

I want to give each of my children that experience. I want them each to have their own “dollhouse.” Their own time of undivided attention. Their own process of working together. Their own moments of playing together. Perhaps it takes more concentration, more discipline with my three gifts than it did with an only child. Perhaps it takes more wisdom or more time management. I don’t know. Still, it’s worth the effort and whatever trial-and-error is required in figuring out how to make those moments a reality. This season, I hope I can give them more than just gifts. I hope I can give them my feeble, untrained lessons in brother- and sisterhood. I hope I can give them time that translates into experiences and security and confidence. Amazon.com aside, I hope I can give them my self.

Tues Twenty 122110: Sights of Christmas 2010

Oh Happy Day! Red #40

It’s Friday, folks. Happy Day! For me this Friday means there are only eight more shopping days for Christmas.  Only twelve more boxes from Amazon.com to arrive (give or take a few). Only four or five more stops at Starkville gift shops to support my local economy during the shopping season. Only two more kid parties to attend. Only one more Christmas tree to trim. Only six more hours until Little Drummer Boy is out on his first “Christmas break.” Only 6,754 more times to read Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer–this year. And about 500 words or so to move myself from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” to “Silent Night, Holy Night”.

Yep, about this time every year, somewhere in the intersection of mommyhood and Christmas craziness, I reach a saturation point of how much can be done in preparation for the “perfect” and most meaningful holiday experience. That elusive quest for perfection and profundity gets me all crazy with ideas for what I want my babies to do, receive, experience, learn, know, enjoy about Christmas. At this saturation point, I realize that ALL of the things I imagined are simply not going to get done. You would think that since Christmas comes at the same time every single year and I’ve lived with myself for about 41 years now, I would be a little better at predicting what I’m actually able to accomplish and still get sleep and avoid grumpiness. But, no. It didn’t happen this year. Again.

So, the saturation point arrived on Tuesday evening as I was looking at the colossal failure of a pan of peanut butter cookies gone awry. I needed to make them for Little Drummer Boy’s Christmas party #2. I had made one small batch with the help distraction of both Bug and Baby Girl sitting on the counter along with the eggs, peanut butter, sugar and about 17 different spice bottles they had pulled from the shelf to experiment with. I’ll admit, I was feeling the frazzle. This is the kind of thing that makes me say, “yeah, I could DECK me some halls right now.” The experience was a blast for them and somewhat harried for me. After the kids moved on to other things, I attempted to catch up on my time with the next batch. Unfortunately, I made the balls too big and put too many on the pan at one time. Something I never would have done if not for the influence of Christmas craziness. Ok, maybe I would have, but you get the idea. When the buzzer sounded, I had all the unwrapped Hershey’s kisses ready to pop into the center of each scrumptious cookie. The red, green and white sprinkles were standing ready to be tossed as the chocolate softened for just the right amount of Christmas cheer. Only, when I pulled the pan from the oven, it was one giant sheet of just-a-bit-too-dark peanut butter cookie all melded together.

I scraped the pan off right into the garbage can. Saturation point.

This week required fourteen teacher gifts, two kid-friend gifts, a dozen cupcakes for Little Drummer Boy’s party #1, two dozen or so cookies for Little Drummer Boy’s party #2, two dozen or so cookies for Bug’s party and what are we going to have for Christmas cookies at OUR house?!

I love baking things for Christmas. I have a collection of recipes I’ve made in past years to create goodie boxes for all the preschool classrooms. I’ve enjoyed the kids helping with the mixing and the stirring and the dumping of ingredients–their direction with the icing and sprinkling of adornments. After all, I don’t EVER remember my mother buying Christmas cookies or cupcakes or whatever else was required for Ho Ho eating. No, I have clear and unblemished recollections of the fun of her baking so many things. And in my recollection, Mom’s were never just-a-bit-too-brown. They were certainly never 16 peanut butter cookies shockingly melded into one giant rectangular one.  Of course, she could probably tell a different tale. My mom’s advice this year…

Just. Go. Buy. Some.

Hello, saturation point. On Wednesday morning, I noticed that Bug’s party list already included sweets, so I quickly changed my offering to chips and dip. I wandered through the bakery aisle of WalMart and located one 12-pack of the most chocolate, icing-piled-up, high-falutin bakery magic cupcakes I could find. Check. I found a 24-pack of the roundest and just the right shade of pale unblemished dough with how-in-the-world-do-they-get-that-color smoothly iced-in-red cookies available in the joint. Check. I side-tracked to the chip aisle for Doritoes and Ruffles and [shock!] store-bought French Onion and Creamy Spinach dips. Check. I even found a giant plastic pack of cookie minis with the same amazingly round and smooth texture just for us to eat. No party required. I tossed those babies in the buggy and slapped my debit card on the counter. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Christmas baking is done! This week I’m thankful for the voice of reason. For Red #40. For little plastic containers that keep the icing from getting gooey. For the preservatives and cellulose gum and carnauba wax and corn syrup solids and all those other chemistry-sounding ingredients on the package. For the chance to sit on the couch and read to bright eyes instead of rushing through the kitchen. And for the sugar cookie dough in my refrigerator and the Christmas sprinkles in the cabinet we’ll use just for the fun of it next week.

Oh Happy Day!