“We should get an advent calendar,”
Scott said to me about a week ago.
“I agree, we should,” maybe that
organic chocolate one I saw at Trader Joe's. A few days later we
were decorating our apartment. Scott had pulled out the two boxes
full of ornaments and other Christmas decorations. I opened one and
right on top,
“Hey, we have an advent calendar!”
I pulled out the quilted one that my sister-in-law had bequeathed to
me. Her teenage sons now too old to enjoy pulling out quilted lambs
and wise men and arranging them by velcro around an embroidered
manger. I hung it. It was November 28th.
Emma almost immediately pulled out the
little figures and then began playing imaginary games with them.
Internally I sighed, I didn't see any way around that. Would she be
able to appreciate in two days when we started pulling them out one
at a time?
Two days later I pulled her little
body over to the calendar, I explained that we would take one out at
a time, she folded up her arms and did her fake screech. She was
reluctant to do any of it at all. The magical moment was a wash.
The calendar has stayed hanging. She has put the figures we took out
back in their little pockets.
Try again next year.
Along the way so many magical moments
that I try to create with my family get wrecked in inclement
weather, product malfunctions, misunderstanding, or just plain old
arguing. Every year I try to create 'our thing.' Sometimes I
succeed, sometimes I fail. Every year I decorate. Every year I
listen to other women's traditions and feel low. I could be better.
I could be more organized. I could be more magical. If only...
Then I remember the moments from my
Christmases that were so special to me: playing with the Christmas
Carol themed jack in the boxes, drinking sparkling apple cider while
decorating the Christmas tree, and that first lighting of the tree.
That tree was always the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.
A marvel. How could you take a simple tree and make it that lovely?
And that's all it took. No
orchestrated moments. No elaborate plans. No amazing crafts.
Simple.
The things that my daughters will
remember from Christmases are things I don't even know that I do. A
book. A certain ornament. A particular song. A flavor. Playing
with that advent calendar. Maybe they will remember magical moments
of cutting down our own Christmas tree, but I won't know until they
tell me as adults. I'm sure it will surprise me.
Hopefully they'll get the point that
it is about Jesus and not all this other stuff. That really seems to
get lost in all the tinsel and stress.
This year I've been thinking about all
the fat of the season. Every year I think about it. What is really
needed and what isn't. So much of it is about other people's
expectations. If I don't spend this much on Aunt Sue, she'll be mad.
I've tried to shuck other people's expectations. Decide what I
think is important and stick to it. Trim the fat and keep the meat.
Forget Rudolph and focus on Jesus.
Simple.
4 comments:
I completely agree! I also struggle with feelings of not doing enough to create magical moments for my son to remember later on, thanks for the reminder of what's important.
I completely agree! But I also struggle with feeling like I'm not creating enough magical moments for my child, thanks for the reminder of what's important (and what they'll probably end up remembering anyway!).
I completely agree! But I also struggle with feeling like I'm not creating enough magical moments for my child, thanks for the reminder of what's important (and what they'll probably end up remembering anyway!).
So many great stories in this space! I love hearing about your family's life. :)
I...might have put you on my list for a Liebster Award. Here's what it means: http://upsherises.blogspot.com/2012/12/mein-liebster.html
No worries if you're not inclined to participate; just wanted to let you know. ;)
Merry Christmas friend!
G
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