Gift

We celebrated Christmas again today in order to open our presents to one another and the gifts sent by Andy's family. As is often the case, my husband created an amazingly original, thoughtful, and creative gift for me that was just stunning in its concept and execution.

It really blew me away, and I think it's the most incredible thing he's ever done for me - which is saying quite a lot because this guy has really put together some insanely extraordinary presents over the years. I mean, really.

He took all of my poems from this blog, along with a few key posts, and created a book on CafePress, complete with cover art, chapter headings, and a foreword written by him that is sweet, inspirational, and loving.

It's really stunning, and actually a very cool little book. I may add more poems once I've reached my 1-year mark for this blog (at which time I may retire it and move on to something else), or perhaps it will remain a gift only I see... something to provide encouragement, appreciation, and hope.

Departure Haiku (because I am still sick as a dog... or at least an ill-tempered cat)

Eight days in NC
(wonderful Christmas visit);
leaving is so sad.

A Christmas Blessing

May you and your family enjoy peace and happiness.
May you discover new joys and put to rest past sorrows.
May your heart swell with compassion.
May your suffering lessen.
May your passions find voice and your hopes become realities.

Rediscovering the Joy of Discovery

We went back to the fairgrounds tonight in DuQuoin so Ari could see the light display one more time - and stumbled upon a whole exhibition hall full of Christmas wonder.

Trees, songs, children's areas, toy trains, a child-sized train that Ari rode twice, balloon animals, and lots more. It was fantastic. Our only regret was not having arrived sooner... but the reaction Ari had upon entering that hall was the most joyous and gorgeous thing I have seen this year.

She could simply not contain her glee, and to see someone express such elation so freely is to be made happy onself. It was pretty awesome. I was overcome with a huge sense of pride, joy, love, and wonder at her tonight. A bit more aware of the miraculousness of her being - and thunderstruck by her immense beauty as a person.

Thoughts for a frigid, icy evening.

Sorrows

• Kathy is in hospice.
• Several people died in the ice storms here these last two days. Mostly while driving, due to road conditions.
• Our home's heat retention is terribly poor, and our latest Ameren bill was astoundingly high.

Joys

• Jack is headed home.
• Ari and I had a great day.
• I got to see my friend Becky, albeit very quickly.
• Ari, Andy, and I made sugar cookies tonight and used our new Christmas cookie cutters.
• We have heat; we have power; we are safe.

Shattering the Myth(s)

I still remember the day I realized, with finality, that Santa Claus wasn't real. I was standing on the back porch area of our house in Burlington, IL. I can still smell the hay-ish smell of the ropey, natural fibered rug/mat my parents had put on the floor back there. The room was essentially a closed-in porch and was always a bit colder than the rest of the house and always on a slope that made you feel off-kilter.

Anyway... there I was, standing around doing... something - and I looked down in the trash and saw the empty packaging for my Snoopy pencil sharpener lying in the trash. The pencil sharpener had been a stocking stuffer... and I was overjoyed and perhaps slightly self-righteously excited to finally have hard evidence there was indeed no such thing as Santa Claus, but rather two parents who were still keeping up the ruse for my younger brother (who still very firmly believed).

I think I confronted my mother, who acted surprised it had taken me so long to figure it out, and I agreed to keep quiet until Brent discovered the truth on his own or started asking questions about the veracity of our Christmas myth.

This story sticks out in my head because I feel it marked a major turning point for my relationship with Christmas. I think some of the nostalgia and fun and giddiness of the season was lost in that moment. The season became about something else, and perhaps also became something that could never quite live up to my childhood adoration and complete immersion in the magicalness of it all.

But it also meant that Christmas became about much more than "presents" and getting what I wanted. I felt greater responsibility for giving as well as receiving, and I felt a sense of power, love, and happiness to be able to be someone else's Santa... to be the one who created magic because I had found something that echoed my sentiments and said something more than ca-ching. Something more akin to, I love you * I know you * I care.

I sort of equate this with the attachments I hold now and the way in which my understanding of the world, my value and beliefs, my conception of truth, etc. are all changing as I continue to grow, evolve, and age each year.

It's interesting to be aware of what we hold onto and what we let go. To look at the lies we tell ourselves because they are easier to handle, and the truths we avoid because they are too painful to embrace.

Not every myth is dangerous - and there is something bittersweet in the loss of blissful ignorance that comes with letting go of some of our personal lore - but ultimately, I think I would rather strive to see things as they are... remembering perception is always a matter of choice and mythology is grounded at least somewhat in truth.

Winter Wonderment

We saw Santa at the mall today. Ari wanted to go check it out and see if he was "the real Santa."

After one look at his white beard, spectacled face, and comfortable perch atop a shiny, red sleigh... Ari looked at us all wide-eyed and excitedly said, "It is real Santa!"

She talked to him some more (he was nice enough to wish us Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and to wave and say hello multiple times as Ari shyly chatted with him sotto voce), and then we headed to the toy store... during which time she bounced along, occasionally squealing with total star-struck wonderment, "Me see real Santa!" Like she couldn't quite believe her luck.

Andy and I were not sure, prior to this year, how we would handle the whole Santa thing. Do you explain the myth? Do you encourage the make believe? Do you cop to buying the presents? I think we ultimately decided to follow her lead. So... when she said that was real Santa, we smiled happily (drunk with love) and agreed with how amazing it was he had been at our mall—of all places.

How cool it must seem to run into the real Santa on a Sunday afternoon. Sort of like seeing the President-Elect Obama at your grocery store one day or running into Meryl Streep at the Rural King, quietly scanning bird feeders and picking out suet.

Sometimes the most miraculous things about having a child are the simply, daily pleasures she seems to be able to reap from even the simplest of circumstances. Silly, happy gifts that are grabbed up with hungry, open arms and enjoyed thoroughly without worry or attachment or embarassment.

So yeah. That is cool. Santa was at our mall. He said hello and was really nice and friendly. And his suit looked way awesome.

I really love this time of year.

Self-Imposed Pressure of the Parenting Variety

We missed the Lights Fantastic Parade tonight. We had intended to go, because Ari slept through most of it her first Christmas, was too young to go at the time it was held her next Christmas due to bedtime constraints, and would have been at the perfect age for it this year. Her friend was going to be there... and it was written on the calendar as a dedicated, planned event for this weekend.

And then Andy and I just totally spaced on it. I didn't remember until about 6:45pm... which meant it was too late to head over and too close to bedtime as well.

Of course, Ari has no idea we let her down in any way whatsoever. We hadn't really talked it up or said anything about it, and she was perfectly happy to watch The Berenstain Bears nestled in blankets and laps upon the couch... and then head into her nighttime ritual, thinking of what she wants to do tomorrow.

But I am disappointed, and I feel guilty for letting her down. I think I feel such pressure sometimes to be the perfect parent - to offer her all the happiness possible, to make every holiday special, and to find or create events in her life that will become happy memories she'll treasure later.

Silly to put that much pressure on myself and silly to think my idea of perfect might be the same as hers or that I have that much control over her experience and perspective on her life. (Or that there is even such a thing as perfection.) She will make her own meaning, create her own narrative, and enter adulthood with her own concept of her childhood, our parenting, etc.

So... I am trying to let it go. There's always next year (if we're here), and - as Andy said - plenty of more time to provide opportunities for joy.

t e e n y. t i n y. Christmas Joy

We decided not to get a Christmas tree this year, opting instead to do some minimal decorating in the living room one night... complete with the Vince Guaraldi Trio and hot chocolate.

Ari was somewhat disappointed, in the end, as evidenced by her heavy sighs and slumped shoulders. I think it just didn't quite live up to the picture she had created in her mind when we said, "Let's put up some Christmas decorations tonight, okay?"

She had seen some a few days prior in the stores and had just gone gaga over them. Something about the shiney, sparkly, gilttery beauty of it all—so strange and twinkly and clearly attached to something different or special that doesn't happen every single day.

So... our little daughter had constructed some scene of merriment and gloriousness in her head, which our tiny little fake 12" tree and lights strung along the windows of one wall just did not equal. Not even close.

Poor little thing. I know how she feels. I think holidays always pose the challenge of not getting too overtaken with our expectations and attachments, lest we miss the beauty of what actually occurs there in front of us.

The happy ending is she now loves the lights, and plugging them in so they can send a soft kind of multicolored glow all over the room makes all three of us simultaneously calm and giddy. Ah, the magic of Christmas decorations. No matter how small.