How Not to Raise (or Be) an Asshole this Christmas

As a first-time mom years ago, I was so eager to start making beautiful holiday memories for my children, because really that’s what most of us love about Christmas, right?  The wonder we recall from our own childhoods.  So when it’s our turn to start creating those memories for our own children, we are more than ready for the challenge.  And we go all out.  All the time.  And it gets exhausting.

But now that I’ve been helping create holiday memories for my children for a few years, I’ve discovered a few things about how kids experience this season and how we can maybe ease up on ourselves and what we see as our responsibility to cultivate the wonder in their eyes.

1. Buy lots of non-breakable ornaments and let your kids decorate the Christmas tree.  Exactly as they want.  Do not worry about symmetry or beauty or neatness. Do worry about keeping kids excited about the season, feeling like they are taking an equal part, and that their contributions are worthy.  Before you had kids, you could make your tree magazine-worthy, but once you have kids, it’s not about you anymore, or at least it isn’t if you’re wanting them to participate in the wonder of the season.  If you are too heavy-handed with how the decorations should be handled, your kids will lose interest, and maybe even begin to experience a sense of dread in relation to the season.  If you think you can fix the problem by buying a second tree for the kids to decorate, you are underestimating kids’ abilities to pick up on when they are subtly being told the way they do things isn’t good enough.  Trust me, I’m still detoxing my husband from such a childhood.
2. Kids love Christmas lights, no matter where you find them.  My kids go nuts over the sample displays in Target, for pete’s sake.  You really don’t have to drive two hours to take them to the world’s-biggest/brightest/bestest-light-display-since-the-beginning-of-time-ever. And, if you do that this year, how will you top it next year?  Keep expectations low as long as possible.  That’s my motto.
3. It is fun to watch toddlers and preschoolers open presents and squeal with excitement, but resist the temptation to give them dozens of gifts in order to keep seeing that face.  They will eventually tire of the game and just want to play with the toys they’ve opened (or the wrapping paper).  You don’t want to be the parent yelling at your kid to open all their presents on Christmas morning.  Be careful also of the precedent you set by giving copious amounts of gifts; it may take a few years, but they will eventually come to expect many gifts.  And then you will be raising a selfish asshole who only cares about receiving gifts.  (Also, see #2 about low expectations.) 
4. Make the season about more than presents. The themes of Advent (historically a Catholic tradition that is enjoying wider recognition these days) - waiting and preparing the way through generosity and self-sacrifice for a gift greater than ourselves - can apply even in non-religious celebrations of the holiday.  
5. Do Santa.  Don’t do Santa.  But have a plan either way.  Once your kids start interacting with other kids and understanding at least some of Christmas, they will pretty quickly figure out that not everybody celebrates the holiday the way your family does.  And if you haven’t already talked about things like Santa and Jesus and presents, there are plenty of kids out there willing to enlighten your kid - one way or another - and then you’re stuck doing damage control if some kid at daycare torched one of your family’s most treasured holiday traditions.  “Different families do things differently,” is an often repeated theme in our house.
6. Around the age of 3, make your kids give gifts to the other members of the immediate family. If they are old enough to have an allowance, make (yes, make) them spend a little bit of that money on the gifts.  If they are too young to have their own money, help them create special drawings, paintings, or crafts for family.  Giving can feel really great.  It’s an experience everyone deserves to have.  Plus, thinking about giving to others can take the focus off of receiving gifts and help avoid the selfish asshole mentioned in #3.
7. It is OK to figure out your family’s traditions over several years.  Let’s face it, your first Christmas as a parent might be a little bit of a let-down, because you’re so eager to start making memories, but your 6 month old won’t have a clue what’s going on, and won’t remember much for a couple of years.  Even once kids start remembering, many of those memories won’t last past the age of 8 or 9, but the general feeling of anticipation, magic, tradition, and togetherness will take hold early and last a lifetime, even if the specific activities don’t.  Even once you’ve settled on a few favorite traditions, you have to be willing to let them morph and change a little as your kids get older and their abilities and interests change.  
8. It is not a competition.  Soon enough, your kids’ wish lists will be influenced by classmates  and they will come home somewhat-enviously reporting the exploits of an elf you secretly find repulsive.  Don’t bring comparison and feelings of inadequacy into your home any sooner than necessary, by trying to copy and keep up with every gift and decor trend.  If you’ve established a few solid, simple traditions, including emphasizing more than just presents during the season, and have let kids feel a part and take some ownership of your celebration, your kids will mostly be too busy anticipating your family’s traditions to be too distracted by the wild excess they will eventually see around them.  Oh, and also stay the hell off of Pinterest.

The Reds and Yellows of Time's Passing

The leaves are falling fast now - in extravagant, loopy, lonely twirls and sudden swirling showers - carpeting the ground.  We have passed peak color and the remaining canopy is fading from the vibrant oranges and reds, to the soft brown of impending winter.

Even on Indian summer days like today - when windows are thrown open and bare feet once again tramp the ground - a small sadness at the passing of such transitory beauty fills me.  The scenery changes a little each day, some days feels gradual, others striking.  But the awareness of the closing of yet another season is near. That awareness the constant change brings makes it easier to notice surroundings and stop to dwell in the moment, count blessings, and breathe deep.  The golden tinged sadness of time's passage.

The air was cool but still and the sun warm, as I sat on our back steps finishing lunch and sipping iced tea.  The light and calls of my two youngest lulled me into a reverie.  My 3-year-old was waiting for me to put him on the "trampabine" and his little sister followed him around, babbling in kind after him.

So many distractions in the world around me, changes that seem never-ending and exhausting.  A Facebook newsfeed ever-revolving - an addiction I mindlessly allow to eat minutes of my day, steal moments away.  Variable, but constant calls to shop my way out of the moment of boredom, frustration, loneliness - e-mail sales flyers full of fantastic deals, online shopping groups and pages established by well-meaning friends building their own businesses, lovely full-color catalogs and magazines delivered to my mailbox.

The (often self-manufactured) drama of others' lives - locally and globally - splayed for all to see online:  divorces, lost friends, sickness.  Yet another neighbor moves, another play mate for my children gone. Another mom friend packs to leave.

The constant pull to advise, instruct, and enlighten or seek others' advice, instruction, and enlightenment provided by today's social media and online "communities."

I often consider these things the business of my days, but so often many of them - or letting myself be consumed by them - distracts me from the business of a life.  My life.  As a wife.  As a mom.  As a human.  My children's lives.  Their hearts.  Their minds.

As I struggle to stay in the moment, not let myself be ferreted away some rabbit hole of depression or boredom or frustration by the constant change, I can - for the first time in my life - catch a glimmer of the joy and peace in always turning back to a constant God.

So I breathe in the fall air deeply, soak in the colors - the changing of the seasons is a call back to that eternal Constancy, a reminder that there are things out there unfettered by our petty human dramas.  Something that will keep moving us forward, regardless of what else swirls around us.
And it is reassuring.  

The bounty of fall

The morning had started off chilly, but by early afternoon the sun was warm as I lay on the trampoline while my two youngest sprights circled me.  The light was golden, as only the light of fall can be, laced by the early yellows and oranges of fall leaves waving in the cool northern breezes.

We gathered handfuls and armfuls of leaves and through them into the golden air so that they could rain down on us as we bounced and ran around the trampoline.  I giggled with them as they ran and slipped in the leaves and fell into each other and me.

I wanted a picture of it - maybe to post on Facebook? - but there was no way to capture the beauty and glory of that moment in one photo, or ten, or even a video - and I didn't want to leave to get a camera - so I sent up a prayer that I would remember that moment forever - their smallness, their innocence, the light, the leaves, the giggles, the gratitude.  I'm not sure how I got so lucky, but I hope I can remember these small moments in twenty years and be just as satisfied with where I am.

Summertime Blues

The crickets sang in the grasses.  They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song.  "Summer is over and gone," they sang.  "Over and gone, over and gone.  Summer is dying, dying."  

The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last forever.  Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year - the days when summer is changing into fall - the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change.

Everybody heard the song of the crickets.  Avery and Fern Arable heard it as they walked the dusty road.  They knew that school would soon begin again.  The young geese heard it and knew that they would never be little goslings again.  Charlotte heard it and knew that she hadn't much time left.  Mrs. Zuckerman, at work in the kitchen, heard the crickets, and a sadness came over her, too.  "Another summer gone," she sighed.  Lurvy, at work building a crate for Wilbur, heard the song and knew it was time to dig potatoes.

"Summer is over and gone," repeated the crickets.   "How many nights till frost?" sang the crickets.  "Good-bye, summer, good-bye, good-bye!"

The sheep heard the crickets, and they felt so uneasy they broke a hole in the pasture fence and wandered up in to the field across the road.  The gander discovered the hole and led his family through, and they walked to the orchard and ate the apples that were lying on the ground.  A little maple tree in the swamp heard the cricket song and turned bright red with anxiety.

Heading into our fourth (!!!) year of grade school, I once again here these words from Charlotte's Web in my head and I get teary-eyed at the thought of my oldest going away from us again every weekday.

I hope he had enough fun this summer, made some lasting memories he will remember fondly - amongst the arguing with me and bickering with his brother, and all the terrible chores and projects I made him work on (and paid him for).  I hope he knows how much I love him, despite how much I yell and correct and admonish.  I hope he remembers who he is and how special he is as he walks back onto the bus and into school, where not everyone is interested in being his friend.

I hope he continues to love school and anticipate it eagerly each day, even as the "real" grades start to roll in.  I hope next summer, he's still mostly satisfied to hang out at home with me, and his little brother and little sister (although I know each year he will become increasingly more attached to friends).

I hope that even as he becomes ever more aware and self-conscious about how he interacts with his mama in public (he didn't want to dance with me in front of others at our MOMS Club end-of-summer dance party and shies away from my head rubs and back scratches in church), I hope he will always dance with me at home.

And maybe, just maybe, I hope he'll miss us just a little bit, too.

"How can you have any pudding, if you don't eat your beans?"

I always feel ahead of the game if we can somehow get a vegetable in for breakfast.  And if it also contains chocolate, well, win-win.  A couple of delicious breakfast muffins where the "good stuff" just blends right in:

Double-chocolate Zucchini Muffin
Carrot Chocolate Chip Muffins

The Flowers in the Weeds

These days. I am "in the weeds."  Or "the rough," as golfers might call it.  The messy, the dirty, the untamed and unkempt, the lost.  The tough days.  Those long days in the short years you've heard about parenthood.  There are diapers and potty accidents.  Sticky, drippy messes and muddy footprints.  There are always more dishes to wash, more laundry to do, more toys to pick up, more housecleaning to carry out, more cooking to plan and accomplish.  I spend so much of my day taking care of my family - which I do willingly and humbly.  But I often reach the end of the day and wonder how many times I actually looked at my children and smiled.  How many kind words did I offer, as opposed to words of direction, correction, and - more often than I'd like to admit - derision?

I am a mediocre housekeeper and that is when I exert my best effort.  When the kids ask for my attention (or pull on my skirt to get it, as our 18-month old does), I always have just one more "little thing," "one more minute," before I can give them my attention and I step around them, pull away from them, move outside of them. Even once I do, my mind wonders to what I'm cooking for dinner or the next load of laundry to be gathered, and I watch the clock, counting the seconds until I'm up again and moving.  And I know they have figured it out - they are not stupid - I see the difference in their expectations of me and my husband, they know who will take the time to wrestle with them and who has just "one more thing" to do before they can join.

This weekend, I spent two nights away from the family and vowed upon my return to sit with my children and listen - there should be no reason for me to feel like there were chores for me to do, returning late on a Sunday afternoon.  I let them surround me, squeeze in beside me, wrap their hands and arms around me, assail me with their stories and hugs.  It felt wonderful and I promised myself I would try each day to find a moment where I settle in among them - instead of holding myself above them, outside of them - and let them consume me. Let myself be consumed by them.

What I hope to find is that letting myself just sit and recharge with my charges - the reason for the rest of my busy-ness, the blessings that give that work - and my life - meaning  - will help me get more accomplished, not less; or at least not care so much about the weeds around me.

Self-care Goodie Bag for Mamas

For the women in your life undergoing stressful life changes and transitions - a new baby, surgery, a death in the family, a new job - a gentle, generous reminder to take care of themselves first.

A self-care goodies bag for young moms (summer version):

Something fun, pretty, but light to read, like Family Circle.

Something delicious and nutritious like Luna Protein Bars.

Something refreshing to drink, like Madhava's Luscious Lemonade.

Something cleansing and invigorating like Yes To's cleansing face wipes.

Something that makes her feel pretty, but is also nourishing, like Burt's Bees Tinted Lip Balm.

Something soothing and pleasing to the senses, like a gently scented candle.

Something for creative expression and stress relief like a set of colored pencils and mandala coloring pages, like Design Originals Creative Coloring Mandalas that include uplifting quotes with each coloring page.

Return

So very thankful for the beautifully chaotic mess of a house I returned to this evening, after a weekend away.

So thankful for the small hands and arms that reached for me, grabbed me, held me, encircled me.

So thankful to be needed and wanted and treasured.

So thankful to lie on my bed and be surrounded, to sit in the rocking chair and be surrounded.

So thankful for the chance to be let myself be surrounded again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

So thankful for the embrace of the chaos, the chaos of the embrace.

The messy days and life with littles.

Amen.