This Christmas

This will be an indulgent blog entry. My Christmas, without any concern for the reader. Just what I want to remember. And, for the purpose of self-decompression... (I love ending random sentences with "...")

Christmas was surprisingly stressful, in the sense of go here, go there, wrap this, buy this, don't forget that, get the kids ready, fit in baby naps first, is there enough for my generous parents to unwrap? And, don't forget the dirty house! I have four children and a busy life. Seriously, my house needs to be cleaned 24/7. Ugh!

I snapped at my hubby a few times. Someone needed to be blamed for my stress. If only he'd do MORE and SOONER, then I would have no stress. Yah, right. The reality is, he did much, and I just wanted him to be my saviour and be perfect. It's hard to let that go when there is so much to do and it seems to all fall on me! Or... did I take that on myself, the woman who must do it all and do it all well. I watched a terrible Christmas movie with that message, though poorly conveyed. Still it served some purpose in making me look at myself. Do I really look at what is important? Do I really let others help me? Can I let go of the insignificant details?

Well, I tried. I probably did the best I could do in that regard. And, I did do it enough to enjoy and recognize what was really important to me. I noticed my children's sense of humor many times. It was truly satisfying. I noticed their excitement and gratitude and pure joy. Of course they loved the gifts, but they had the best time enjoying moments with their loved ones. I am so proud to be their mom. Even with all of the moments I failed them, they are turning into wonderful young men.

I relished the 26 hours that I had my sister all to myself (with my kids and hubby of course, but she mirrored my activities and we did everything together). She is a brilliant young adult, still she's dorky, just like me. No expectations, no hang-ups, just hanging out. I will cherish this Christmas with her forever. Okay, I'll just admit it; this was the prized jewel in this mosaic Christmas. (And it's not just because she is an obsessive cleaner, something missing in my house.)

My dad and his girlfriend were invested in our family by cooking great food, playing games with us, laughing and being merry. Our Christmas with them was more than I could have hoped for.

My stepmom spoiled my children in ways only she can. She swooped in with her magical dust and left the boys in a joyful stupor.

My mother-in-law and brother-in-law were so full of love and doting over the kids. It was calm and pleasant. This reminded me how much we love our family.

Finally, at my mom and stepdad's the Christmas story was read. Happy Birthday to Jesus was sung. It brought it all together. And we hunkered down for a long evening, waiting for the snow to diminish so we could have better than a "not-so-enjoyable traverse" home. (Did I mention that the TouchTMJ4.com Christmas Eve reporter was very entertaining with the worst ever weather report in human history?)

My Christmas was far from perfect, yet it was one of the best ever! We spent it with everyone we love. There was no fighting. There was lots of laughter, joy and appreciation. It was... fabulous!

Daddy's Little Girl

I thought I was destined to have a gaggle of boys. Boys only. My husband and I started our family off with a boy. Then, we had another boy. Then, we had another boy. You already know this if you read my November post, "Finally We Have Our Girl." And just referring to that post, you can deduce what happened to our family. Yup, we had a girl.

Wow, it is different! I see it in my husband. When the boys were little, he liked them to have fun things and decent clothes. He never deprived them. But, they were not spoiled by any means. Generally, when we were at the store with them and they'd ask for something, we would just say no. I was a great bargain hunter for clothes and toys at rummage sales, clearance racks and Goodwill stores. And their dad was just fine with this.

Now that he has his precious baby girl, something has come over him. His wallet is opening. Some second hand items are fine for his baby, but you better believe he is shopping for clothes, toys and things to please her. Ah hem... HE is shopping. And, when I show him something in a magazine for her, he instantly says, "buy it." (He's not quite as flippant as it sounds, but in comparison, it is new and strange.)

His wallet is not the only thing that is opening up, his heart is too. Boys seem to beckon to be tickled, wrestled and roughed-up. When they cry, their dad says, "Toughen up, you're fine." But when a man's little girl cries, he snuggles, coddles and resolves the situation. He's not okay until his princess is okay. Play time with her is gentle and quiet. It's sweet to watch, and the partiality is acceptable. She's Daddy's little girl.

The weird thing is, it is happening to me too. I knew that having a daughter would be different. I knew my husband would be okay with me painting her toenails (unlike those times I painted my son's toenails.) I knew I'd get to buy dresses and have tea parties. But, I didn't expect the warmth, patience and fulfillment I'd feel in my heart.

We adore our boys. They are quite special. But having a girl is more different than I imagined. It seems she will be spoiled in many, many ways; mostly lots of doting and love. Daddy's little girl has also become Mommy's little girl.

Ornaments of Life

We've had a fake Christmas tree for 10 years. It was easier when we had three preschoolers. No chasing kids through massive tree lots while my hubby and I bicker over the "right" tree. No falling needles to be eaten and choked on. No forgetting to water the tree because I have laundry and spit-up and diaper rash on the brain.

After the boys got bigger, it was a habit we were in. We have the tree, so why go pay $40 for another one, real or not?

Then came the kittens. The kittens loved to climb and bat at things and play! The Christmas tree became their own private amusement park. We tried to deter them by squirting water at them. That was only a temporary fix. When we slept, they played. Every morning I found misplaced and broken ornaments. Eventually, several branches would accompany the glass shards on the floor. By New Years Day, they had left their permanent mark. The fake tree we had used for 10 years was unrepairable.

This Thanksgiving, my hubby picked up a new fake tree, by my request. However, it just didn't sit right with us. It was time to create a new Christmas tradition. I returned the plastic tree, tightly stuffed into it's box and two weeks later we ventured out into the snowy night to buy a real tree.

The experience was great. No arguing, a warm campfire, a tractor-pulled hayride through the beautiful tree farm. It was perfect.

The next day we erected our gorgeous tree. (I'm certain it was the best one on the lot and only fools came before us, why else was is still there waiting for us?) With three little helpers, it seemed almost magical how quickly the tree transformed. Lights and garland and ornaments were flying onto the tree.

An ornament my son made as a toddler, another that his brother made in pre-school, another that was a gift from my stepmom; "Oh, I love this one." "Grandma bought these for us, one snowman for each of us." "Oh look, a handcrafted angel from Stella!" "Nana helped you make that one." "You made this one with your Aunt." "Mom, remember these from our old neighbors." "Ahaha... this one is from my sister. I miss her." "Baby's First Christmas, one for each of you."

The memories of our loved ones and past Christmases flooded every open space on the tree. Many of the people from these memories aren't here anymore, but these decorations, these ornaments, these precious trinkets, they represent life. My life, my children's' lives, my relatives lives. This tree may be a living tree, but it wasn't truly brought to life until it was donned with our treasures.

The kids are already planning which ornaments they will take with them when they grow up and move out. The memories will live on with them for years to come.

Maybe I am just more sentimental this year, maybe it's because our tree is living, maybe I am intoxicated by the smell of pine; but I know that I am smitten with this tree that is very much alive.

Christmas Sisters

From my very first Christmas, through my 30th Christmas, there is one person that I spent every Christmas Day with. Just one person.

It wasn't my mom or dad. They divorced when I was a toddler and they had to become flexible with who would have their 3 girls at Christmas time.

It wasn't my husband. Obviously that didn't start until our engagement.

It wasn't my little sister. She didn't exist before my 16th Christmas.

It wasn't my older sister who moved to Canada and got married. She started spending all but one Christmas up in the frigid, darkness she now calls home.

It was my big sister, Sherri. Every Christmas since I was a baby, well into our married lives, whether at our dad's or our mom's, we were together on Christmas day.

Our Christmases often included shenanigans; like caravaning through a cemetery to find the tombstone of "Friend," playing Christmas carols on the piano with silly "shave-n-a-haircut" type finales, playing more holiday tunes on our wooden recorders, and disturbing everyone by playing one fated song on said instruments through our noses, making strange videos and taking strange pictures, giving each other and our family bizarre, recycled gag gifts, and so on and so on...

Laughter. Christmases with Sherri were always filled with a plethora of giggles and a strange modulating laughter that we inherited from our mother.

Our last Christmas day together, she donned a baseball cap with a meager ponytail peaking out the back, assembled from the depleted amount of hair on her head. That Christmas had less laughter, no shenanigans, and a heavy, dense air about it. I must admit, I was convinced it was our last Christmas together. It was.

Christmas has not been the same without her. It will never be just that way again. But this Christmas has a new hope. Sherri Lee is no longer here to celebrate with me, but her niece Shaylee is. This is my new daughter that I believe Sherri knew would grace our family. A surprise to us, but a birth of a new beautiful, smiling sister in our family. And I'll be spending every Christmas day with Shaylee for a long time.

Plus, I cannot ignore the elation I feel for my baby sister coming to spend Christmas day with me! I know I won't be able to spend every Christmas day with her, but I know it will not be our last. And, it is going to be just plain amazing.

Strength Unrealized

I used to hear it when I was younger and I used to revel in it. "When I first met you, I was so intimidated." I thought this was fantastic. I must be beautiful and strong; I can keep people at a distance. Strangely, I was content to be unapproachable and seemingly superior. I proudly thought this was what I inherited from my father.

Now I feel ashamed by it, put-off, discouraged. Was this ever who I really was? Likely it was more of a defense mechanism. Now I have to deal with what I created myself to be. I want to work to undo it. But how?

I am tall, and pretty, I'm told. I know that's enough to intimidate those who do not know me. I sing in front of large congregations, I speak to groups of 100 people. That's where I have gifts to share. It's a misjudgement that people who do this sort of thing have it all together, are confident and strong. I may have to work even harder to break through this facade.

Yes, it's a facade. I am insecure and confused. I lack a backbone. I only seem like I have a backbone when I am confused, terrified or hurt and defending my soul.

Yet, successful women are often accused of the same things as me. They are controlling, manipulative, confident, strong-willed. Right? So am I going to destroy success in my life by breaking down my hard shell?

I need real strength, real confidence, and maybe some softness, some warmth. I need to be true to myself and not throw out the good with the bad. Balance, goodness, love, acceptance and strength realized in me. There is still a long journey ahead to unveil the real me. I will press on.

Snow Peas

Two peas in a pod? Not usually. Yet as soon as the first snow hit, I, just like my little sister was inclined to blog about it. Let's just say we're two snow peas in a pod. (If I felt it was appropriate to use emoticons in a blog, I would enter a smile here.)

Of course my kids were giddy this morning, drunk from the dazzling, crystalline portrait outside the window that they immediately began daydreaming about destroying. Visions of snowball fights, forts and sledding danced in their boyish minds.

I, on the other hand, am filled with hope by the pure white veneer that masks mankind's marring imprint. Residual garbage, concrete, the web of wires that cover increasingly more terrain, and hunks of dented metal we call vehicles are all hidden or disguised with sparkling, soft, light and forgiving beauty. I prefer it not be disturbed. Let it linger.

So it does, but not for long. Soon several cars have driven by and the snow in the streets takes on a brown tinge. The undisturbed luminous blanket covering the backyard now has tracks and snowballs and leaves mixed in. The snow accumulation has become too heavy to balance on the cables overhead. Still, my feeling of promise endures.

It reminds me of how God looks at me, pure and clean. Mistakes and scars are covered with pure beauty. In this I find the ability to forgive others and see them in the light of perfection and hope. So do I find the ability to forgive myself.

I love the clean slate that the snow represents. I love the light it reflects. I love the differences it hides and the gaps it fills. It represents hope. It is a love I share with my sister. And, it's just plain beautiful.

The Unstated

Why is it that when I was growing up not a single person told me that alcohol ruins lives? Is it strange that I've never heard of someone who said alcohol enhanced or improved his life? "Thank God for alcohol." "My life is so much better for having alcohol in it."

I'm sure there are some lovely people in the hills of Italy that drink one, homemade, high-antioxidant glass of red wine per day and are reaping the benefits of it. But are their lives truly better because of it or would they be fine without it?

Perhaps there are only two ways to have alcohol in your life. 1. It neither improves or damages your life, it just is. 2. It is detrimental to your life. It's also likely that those who fall into the first category know someone whose life falls into the second category and they actually are worse off because they or someone they love is adversely affected by alcohol.

It's an epidemic that affects nearly everyone in America and many, many other countries. It is masked behind pictures of people happily enjoying their drinks. Dig deeper and you will find abused spouses, neglected children, and devastated sober people trying to clean up the mess.

So why is it that I still look forward to that occasional drink to relieve the tension, escape reality, have a laugh with friends? And why am I not telling my children that alcohol ruins lives? I think it's time to transfom the unstated into the boldly stated.

The Inevitable

Life is messy, life is complicated. We are all individuals. We all have our own perspective, our own hopes, our own sense of needs. And, we all make mistakes.

The pessimist doesn't experience life to the fullest, and the optimist gets disappointed. The realist is often dry and dull, the dreamer is off in another world.

The point is, there is no way to live together without misunderstanding, disappointment and unresolvable issues. Let's just do our best to coexist and love and honor each other. It's how we navigate this that will allow us to maintain joy and respect.