Christmas Gaze

Sometimes my kids just make me smile. You don’t have to hang out around here long to figure that out, and Christmas time is ripe for smiles. Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl are getting to the ages when they can remember the traditions, decorations and fun activities from previous years. They are beginning to have their own memories of Christmas and their own treasured moments.

We have Christmas everywhere at my house. My mom shared with me the joy of celebration from a very young age and filled our holidays with memories and special decorations I looked forward to each year. I’ve tried to do those same things with my own kids and it’s very special to me to see their eyes fill with wonder and excitement as they see the traditions — and even remember some of them from last year.

Of course, my babies already seem to have their own take on the process of celebrating Christmas. I have several nativity scenes around the house — some I’ve gotten just so they can play with them. Most are inexpensive versions given to me or picked up from the dollar store for their particular kid-like cuteness. They each have the requisite super-glued parts — evidence that they have just enough combination of doll and action figure familiarity to make them attractive for playing and storytelling.

I always set them up in the same way. The way most folks do I guess. The baby is in the center, flanked by Mary and Joseph. The wise men file in from the baby’s left with the occasional camel in tow. They were, after all, from the East. The shepherds and members of their flock take their places to the right and the barn’s resident cow and donkey stand wherever available. An angel usually stands behind the babe overseeing the scene. Oddly, the people always seem to be facing outward — so we can see them, I guess. I’m not sure why they logically have those assigned seats in my mind, but they do.

A funny thing happened this year. One of the $5 dollar store versions sits on a table next to our couch. It’s a tiny porcelain collection of child characters painted with sweet smiles and pastel colors. A week ago I noticed that every time I walked by the table, the figures were moved to the same position. At first I didn’t really pay attention. The kids like to play with the set, which makes me smile. So, when I saw the rearrangement, I simply moved the figures back to their assigned spots and went on about my business.

Only, they caught my attention again later. The figures were again shifted from the standard positions I’d given them. And they were shifted to the same new positions. In fact, I noticed the same reorganization of players in some of our other crèches. Hmmm. Cue the mommy brain. I think my kids were demonstrating their own preferences for the nativity scene.

So, I looked closer. Baby Jesus was in the center, to be sure, but the others weren’t stretched out in a pageant-esque tableau. No, the onlookers were standing shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle around the holy child. They seemed to be crowded in as close as possible with each animal and child-like character gazing at the newborn king. You couldn’t see all their cutely painted faces from across the room. The wise men didn’t appear to be traveling together — or coming from the East, for that matter. And, although I doubt you could even tell they were supposed to be a “manger scene,” I imagine in the thoughts of my Drummer Boy, Bug and Baby Girl, each little colorful porcelain heart had a necessary unobstructed view of the tiny Savior. Each was looking full-faced and undistracted upon the baby in the hay.

I haven’t moved the figures since. They are still staring, quite focused, on the Christ child. And I have to admit my own heart is a little more focused as well because of it. My attention is drawn to the baby birthed in such humble circumstances, yet carrying the seed of heaven in his tender chest. To the little hearts running around me, full of constant energy and motion. Somehow they are my very own heart looking right back at me. I’m drawn to the simple messages of loving and giving and hoping and unabashed gazing they seem to find so easy to comprehend. The messages that are so easily clouded from my view at times. What a pleasure to turn my own full gaze to the manger and see that wonder again.

Merry Christmas.

Topsy-turvy Week. And the Rest.

I feel rested today. I know it’s not earth-shattering. But there it is. I’m not sure of the statistics on how often I can say that, but I have a feeling they wouldn’t be in my favor in recent months. I stayed up until almost 1am last night and even then, deep sleep eluded me. Granted, I took a nap yesterday afternoon, but the day was also fairly busy with activities alongside my kids and with being out in the heat. This peculiar and unexpected sensation has me thinking a little more carefully about the nature of rest.

I’m beginning to realize that rest is more of a state of mind than a scheduling thing. Can I be rested even with little sleep — rested in spirit at least? As I pay attention to myself, I’m noticing respite comes from mindset more than anything else.

Last week was an emotional one. It included some extra time with my children outside of our normal routine. It was no well-planned vacation, just some days at my parents’ home enjoying focused time with them and three four-foot kiddie pools. These makings of big fun, were made possible, in part, by my decision to say “yes” to them as often as humanly possible.

Last week I was also tip-toeing on the edge of a little stress produced by saying “yes” to the kids and “no” to work so often at a time when my project schedule is, thankfully, busy. But, even that toe dance was paired with the grateful realization that owning my own business has given me the freedom to take that time away with the children — to choose to focus on them for a few days. Just because.

The week also included sorrow at the passing of my grandmother. It was bittersweet in seeing her life celebrated, and recognizing that her battle with Alzheimer’s meant much of the grieving of her loss had already occurred in these last years.

The emotional ride culminated on Friday with having to make the decision to have my sweet beagle, Jingle Belle, put down because of health issues — a sorrow at losing her and at having to make the hard financial and humane choices so often accompanying a 9-year-old pet.

And then there’s tee ball — in 96 degree Mississippi heat. Little Drummer Boy’s last game was on Friday night. I was so proud of him. And tired of the pace of scheduled games, and looking forward to Bug’s turn, and appreciative of LDB’s first little trophy, and sweating, and impatient. A tell-tale end to a topsy-turvy week. But, when I think about it, the week wasn’t really all that unusual. It was a week filled with real life. Just life and all it’s ups and downs, joys and sorrows — the stuff that wrings us out. Daily.

So, at first glance, my feeling rested today is inexplicable. Except for this…

On Friday evening I told myself and everyone in the house who would listen, “I need some down time to regroup. And that’s what I’m doing this weekend.”

And I did. In all those ways that help my own spirit feel a little more in control. The unique ways that replenish my own soul or help me really see the enchantment of life around me (or at least help me see the countertops around me.) I played with the kids. I sorted through things in my closet. I cleaned my sink. I took my time getting groceries. I slept late. I took a nap. I read extra bedtime stories. I laughed at being splashed. I told myself that it’s ok to do what I need for me. Because three little hearts are counting on that me.

Yep, that last part was the hardest. And the most important. And the thing that made the difference.  You see, I want those three gifts to have the best me possible, not the haggard, impatient and bothered me. I want them to have the me at rest.

Sometimes being rested is a mindset. Sometimes it is about more than getting sleep. Sometimes it’s about giving myself permission to stop. Permission to be my own boss. To be governed by what I know my heart needs.

Exuberance, Part 2

It’s that time of year again. The daycare end-of-the-year program is tonight. Back in December, I wrote about the last installment of the daycare touring show — the Christmas program. And just like that experience, exuberance has again been rearing its head around my house.

Granted, exuberance comes standard where Bug, the four-year-old is concerned, but it’s so much bigger and well, exuberant when there’s a performance involved. Especially a performance he’s been practicing for.

So, this morning I was informed, “Today is next Thursday!”

There’s been quite a buildup to “the program,” as we’ve come to call it. His teachers instilled in Bug the idea that “the program” was happening on Thursday, and ever since, I’ve been asked to explain all things relative to the particular Thursday in question.

Today’s the day. Exuberance struck this morning in full force with major jumps around the kitchen, speed chasing through the hallway, volume set firmly on ten and umpteen questions about who’s coming, did we realize it was tonight, wait is it tonight, my teacher said it was tonight, and so forth.

I found myself saying, “Bug, we need to calm down.”

“Bug, settle down.”

“Bug, we need to lower our voices inside.”

“Yes, Bug, I know it’s Thursday.” (insert sigh)

“BUG! You’re too excited! You need to calm down. RIGHT. NOW.”

He stopped. He searched my grim face for a moment. His giant grin dropped to a blank expression. He looked away for a moment. His face colored slightly. Then, he smiled at me again. Maybe a little weaker, but a smile.

That’s when it hit me. WHAT am I doing? I’d rather see his vibrant grin than a blank stare any day. Any moment. Every moment. This was something he had worked for. Something he had practiced. Something that was just his. In a year of big firsts for his older brother becoming a kindergardener and his younger sister learning to talk and do so many things, this was HIS moment. He was the only one of us in “the program.” This was HIS program.

And he was excited about it.

Dare I say, exuberant. And I want him to be. I want to celebrate with him. I want him to know that I can’t wait to see him shine. And I told him so. I grabbed him for a big hug — the kind mommies give when they know they’ve handled it all wrong. The kind with the prayer under my breath saying, “God, please don’t let him remember this.” I told him I was SO excited about his program. That I couldn’t wait to see it. And he bounded off again with exuberance somewhat in tact.

Yes, I understand self control. I understand appropriate. I understand time and place. I understand how frenzied those exuberant moments (and days) can be. And, I understand how they stretch even the most patient mommy (which I am not) during the daily morning routine. Still, in a world where folks pay big money to attend seminars devoted to helping them find the motivation to do things they already say they want to do… In a world where the self help aisle is burgeoning with ways to get yourself on target with that next big idea… In a world where it seems to take an inordinate amount of effort to defy the inertia of lives plugged in to this technology or entertainment or the other… In that world, I WANT to see exuberance. Blinding, unfiltered, self-generated exuberance.

In my Bug, I want to mold it. I want to season it. I want to train it. I want to channel it. And, yes, at times I may even want to contain it. But I never want to squelch it.

Instead, I want to celebrate it. And tonight, I will.

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!

Tues Ten 120710: Power Moments

I’ve been thinking about power moments this week. No, the ones I’ve been considering don’t involve any business meetings. Or client conversations. Or high-dollar contracts. Or 3-inch heels. They don’t involve the United Nations or Greenpeace or public school funding. They don’t have pending legislation or rallies planned or NYT coverage. Still, there are those times when you just know “this moment has power.”

Power for me. Power for the little one I’m responding to. Power for their future and mine. Power for what I have to teach. Power for what I have to learn. Power for what gives me strength. Power for what I can rest in. “This moment has power.”

This past weekend, over the course of a few short hours on Friday night, I had several of those moments. They were quite possibly fueled by all our mutual excitement about getting the first of our Christmas decorations down from the attic. They could have been precipitate by my own resolve to take a break from the crazy holiday work schedule. Maybe I was just primed to recognize them after a long and busy week. Maybe I was stilled and open enough to really experience them. Maybe they’ve been happening every moment of every day without my knowledge. Regardless, I give you the Tuesday Ten: Power Moments.

1. A Moment of Giving (& Grammar)

When I walked into Little Drummer Boy’s after-school room for pick-up, he unzipped his backpack and proudly pulled out something for me to open–something he had made in his art class at school. It was a green paper with a painted/cut/pasted Christmas tree and the words:
Momea
Love
LDB*

I asked him to read it to me… “LDB* Loves Mommy”

2. A Moment of ROI

The boys & Baby Girl were beyond excited about the box of Christmas books we got down from the attic in the first of many forays into Christmas decorating. Bug had me read Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer two times, and he fell asleep looking at the ancient Little Golden Book. It’s a copy I had as a child, proving 39¢ still goes a long way.

3. A Moment of Recognition

Out of the blue as we were sitting on the floor, Little Drummer Boy asked me what I did for my work. It’s the first time he’s inquired about what I actually “do” beyond just the place I go for work. I told him that I drew pictures for people kind of like the picture he made for me–that people paid me to make pictures that would help them sell things. That made him smile. Which made me smile.

4. A Moment of Play

I took the time to get on the floor and play Thomas the Tank Engine with Bug. He had been asking for “someone” to play with him and I it was an invitation I couldn’t refuse. It also got me easy lap time with Little Drummer Boy and Baby Girl.

5. A Moment of Celebration

In our debriefing from moving Christmas boxes from the attic, Little Drummer Boy asked if I was going to put anything on the mantle.
Mommy: “Yes, but maybe not tomorrow.”
LDB: “Oh come on! Put it up tomorrow!”

He’s learning to be excited about Christmas. And about celebrating.

6. A Moment of Communication

Bug was using some of those little plastic shaped bracelets that are so popular to hold his truck and trailer together in a creative way. I commented that he was “so smart” and he asked me why. I got to tell him.

7. A Moment of Rest

At the end of the day my mom had given Baby Girl a bath and put on her pajamas. When I came in the room for our bedtime routine, I got a clear as day “Mommy’s here!” The warmth in my heart from that statement gave way to a very warm and content little girl laying her head on my shoulder. After reading several books and rubbing her eyes a few times, she raised her head, rubbed her eyes, said “sleep” and pointed to her bed. Sometimes you just know it’s time for rest.

8. A Moment of Peace

We actually had sharing and cooperation between brothers as we were moving boxes out of the attic. Little Drummer Boy actually let Bug go “first” once or twice to help carry boxes in between moments of spontaneously hugging me.

9. A Moment of Inclusion

We ordered pizza and the children had a picnic as we sometimes do. Baby Girl insisted that I come and sit by her rather than with the grownups at the big table.
Baby Girl: “NO! Mommy here.”
Little Drummer Boy: “I’ll move my juice and you can put your plate here.”

Sometimes it’s nice to remember your place.

10. A Moment of Acceptance

I made some changes this week in our bedtime routines that I hoped would make the process for Little Drummer Boy and Bug move a little more smoothly and peacefully. On the way to school, LDB determined we should do it “just like that again tonight.” And when the moment of execution arrived, I was reminded again — “just like last night.”