peace
December 26, 2016 § 1 Comment
Friday morning I was the first to wake. Warm coffee in my favorite mug and only the light of the Christmas tree, I watched the first snowflakes tumble lazily against the darkness. Curled beneath the blanket my mother crocheted, with a book fallen forgotten across my lap, I lingered in content distraction while my family slept.
The past few days have been a happy treasure of simple riches; the company of loved ones and the easy busyness of cooking, card games and old movies. Our children curled into my parents’ company and I stole kisses from Mr. Claus beneath the mistletoe.
Some traditions were lost, Christmas picture books collected dust. The elf watched from his shelf, but without the magic of forgotten caution. A game of clues was played with the distracted mastery of someone sleepwalking a familiar path.
I might have grieved these small changes, reminders that my children were outgrowing beloved holiday hallmarks, but in the quiet moments I marveled at the new traditions in this unfolding season of joy. My children drafting their own Christmas cards to friends, an activity I once performed in solitude, or their company in the kitchen as we worked through the mechanics of family meals and holiday baking.
It’s been years since I baked with so much joy, exploring unfamiliar recipes and experimenting with new ingredients. Stumbling through the mess of failed dough for the perfect cookie. The meditative quality of soapy water and endless dishes. Meals that unfolded into the rhythm of wakefulness and rest, punctuated with conversation and laughter.
There was a gentleness to this Christmas, a quiet togetherness that ruffled old memories with fresh air. It was impossible not to remember the complicated experiences of past holidays; destructive houseguests that rattled peace with unkindness. There was a time I might have been caught in the contradiction of these experiences with disappointment or remorse, but the wealth of my gratitude outweighs regret.
This week, as I tuck away ornaments to welcome the New Year, there is a tranquility of peace and joy; mindfulness and presence for this season.
rush delivery
December 22, 2016 § 3 Comments
Fifteen minutes before the mad dash for the bus, on the last day of school before vacation, my daughter unraveled over a missing sweater. The calendar called for an ugly adornment to culminate a week of playful spirit wear.
We had nothing beyond my confusion and my daughter’s quiet crocodile tears. Disappointment and confusion sat heavy among frustration and false cheer.
Communication unraveled into staccato questions? A triage of information to properly assess the severity of the preteen meltdown.
Is this important? Will you have regrets? What do we have at our disposal and is this solution an acceptable compromise?
Like Cinderella’s mice, we scavenged our surroundings for resources. The sweater off my back, a garland of red ribbon, and a bow from Christmas past.
We solved the physical problem but between sloppy, hurried stitches we learned a few important self truths, too.
My daughter learned to speak up when something is important to her. Those trips to stores searching for a bargain ugly sweater were all met with a postured acceptance of frugality.
She learned to prioritize her needs rather than crumpling into honesty out of disappointment.
Lastly, she learned to problem solve with what she had is a far greater comfort than crying over what she cannot change.
I learned a few lessons, too. Anger was an unfortunate response to frustration. I let my insecurities about short changing my daughter’s experience predict failure and that bitterness tainted the miracle of my feverish stitch work.
I criticized my daughter for not speaking up sooner, being honest, and getting emotional. I can’t imagine why she might have hesitated to speak up at all.
Rather than high-fiving and hugging over our last minute miracle of sheer stubborn determination, we were quietly pulling ourselves together from the stomach churning exhaustion of our fears and insecurities.
What will the other kids say? Am I a bad mother?
Will she be disappointed in me?
I succeeded in crafting the much needed sweater, but I missed a stitch mothering. This is the moment, the scrap of knotty ends I don’t want to unravel into forgetfulness:
I confessed to my daughter that I had wanted to provide perfectly and I thought I needed more time, more resources when what we had between us was enough. A fragment of string, an old sweater, and a partially crumpled bow all held together with effort and love. Sometimes the things we are most worried about failing at, missing out on, or not having are all just under our nose.
comfort & joy
December 21, 2016 § 4 Comments
There is a stillness to this season, small changes that have created a simpler experience of Christmastime. Gone is the chaos of elementary school parties; teacher gifts and classroom games, goodie bags and delegated snack assignments. Our children are of an age that we can recall the quiet frenzy of these holiday productions with equal measure sentiment and relief.
This year we’ve kept our social commitments minimal, intentionally gathering among old friends and new while preserving time enough to rest between festivities. A lunch celebration with co-workers and a coffee date between errands, a formal performance and an elegant evening among neighbors are sandwiched between lazy mornings and reruns of beloved movies. School nights have been squandered with spontaneous baking and vacation days given to family.
Even the gifts are no longer choreographed into tidy measurements of equality among our children, but aligned by need in anticipation of joy. Small gestures of thoughtfulness and indulgent offerings of appreciation. Our children have outgrown wish lists and are content to pen their names to family Christmas cards, adding their own greetings to old school friends and favorite teachers.
We’ve outgrown some traditions and added others, traded responsibilities and packed away reminders of unhappier Christmas spirits. As we near Christmas Eve, I find myself lingering in the quiet hours by the tree. Counting my blessings, unfolding gratitude like little cardboard doors on advent calendars; each day the sweetest gift of all.
to my children
December 25, 2015 § Leave a comment
Lazy snowflakes and chocolate chip pancakes, Remember Whens and In a Bit. I will remember this holiday for the bounty of time, unhurried meals over our new dining table and lazy afternoons near the fire.
This morning I sat with my coffee and noted a few certainties for Christmases to come, least I forget the simplicity of your joy:
Neither of you numbered your wishes, no one tallied the boxes between you or calculated the cost to measure fairness. It was enough to feel appreciated with simple gifts that honored deeply ingrained interests; art tools and science equipment, toys you build and forgotten requests.
Stockings were pilfered for sugar without any interest in non-edible spoils; even then, chocolates were stowed away for a time soon forgotten. Between you there were some sweet similarities without any confectionary comparisons.
Given the choice between gifting and receiving, you were as eager to witness joy as experience your own. In fact, there was as much pleasure in crafting tags and tying simple bows as there was in discovering what surprises were buried beneath the wrapping.
In matters of menus, you were more interested in visiting over a meal than the formalities of traditional staples. Similarly you were just as happy to bake a single batch of cookies across days of spontaneous cravings, than to stock the pantry with multiple choices in advance.
By day’s end you have played with new toys, but gravitated predictably toward old favorites; savoring the unstructured freedom of a holiday from routine as much as the novelty of new indulgences. Traded laughter and curled into quiet contentment.
It has been a season of peace, simple traditions and fewer wants; bountiful joy in thoughtful gifts without a single complaint in the confetti of wrapping that littered the floor. For my part, I’ll hold dear for years to come the gentleness of this day and the fleeting magic of your gratitude in less.
Love, Mom
little nothings
December 23, 2015 § Leave a comment
Today was our children’s last day of school before Christmas vacation. With no great demands upon our day, my husband and I indulged in the gift of time. We visited a bakery, laughing at the foolishness of our whim amid the chaos of their busyness, and tended to a last-minute gift in a familiar shop around the corner from yesterday.
It was this unhurried contentment that cast a spell upon our children’s return from school. Homework forgotten and housekeeping postponed, we settled into a string of old movies and simple distractions. Trading stories of our day and falling into companionable silence.
I doodled cherished characters onto blank gift tags the way I once sketched stories onto school day napkins tucked into lunch boxes. Our daughter filled in the gray pencil outlines with color until each personality took shape. Eventually we traded markers, delighted with our efforts, happily lost to the work of play.
Play became dinner and dinner became stories by the fireplace; our coffee table covered in beloved picture books from holiday’s past. We took turns reading sentimental favorites in funny voices until the sky demanded we admire the uncluttered canvas of stars that seemed to apologize for the absence of snowflakes.
It was magic; peace and joy crafted from paper and words, stars and stolen minutes. Little nothings made into something extraordinary.
last minute
December 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
There are three more days of school before we break for the holiday. Three days for last-minute gifts and groceries; time enough to plan a little magic in this, a new season, of joy.
Gone are the years of elaborate gingerbread houses, little fingers sticky with frosting and candy scattered to the far corners of progress. No longer do I wrap our packages with intricate bows or hide the seams of my wrapping by laboring over the folds with hot glue. I’ve stopped staging our home for a Christmas card, becoming almost reckless in my disregard for dramatic details.
In the beginning I was performing to the expectations of impossible standards to please my husband’s family and delight my children with a storybook fairytale. I thought I might preserve make-believe with carefully choreographed awe and excessive measures of enthusiasm. Except, I was exhausted by the work of performing a disingenuous act of joy.
I was raised with a simpler experience of magic, the company of loved ones and the smell of baked goods. I cannot remember a single gift, but I can close my eyes and remember the generosity of peace that marks my memories and the wealth of love made invaluable by time spent with family. I wish I had honored these traditions earlier, before I adopted the superficial demonstrations inherent in my husband’s memories.
Our children rallied against unhappy traditions, in want of simpler experiences almost as soon as they could speak their mind. Unimpressed with the decorative packaging that was my husband’s family’s hallmark, they hated the seams that would not tear beneath layers of glue. They bemoaned the nagging directives in sharp tones from grandparents who demanded they preserve each ribbon. They endured with sullen postures the formality of Christmas morning brunch; traditional foods set against pristine table cloths and heirloom quality place settings with little room for cheer.
For some time I tried to please both generations.
New traditions became apologies for patience. To drown out the demands of unwrapping gifts, I let my children scatter their mess with joy. We saved the ribbon but buried our floor beneath hastily torn wrapping paper. I packed away my china and snuck donuts onto countertops, a small concession for the menu of dreaded hash. I created a new dress code that restricted our children from properly dressing for the day and refused, myself, to change out of pajamas.
Little changes that acknowledged the brevity of childhood. Still misery found its way to our doorstep with sharp tongues and crude demonstrations of excess. So we tucked our happiness beneath tolerance and waited for each departure to relax into an uncomplicated contentment for simpler traditions. We swept away the wealth of material gifts for more charitable purposes and settled into play.
This year we have invited new guests to preserve a spirit of love that embraces less with gifts of mindfulness. Magic guarded by a menu of frivolous fun with a few special gifts wrapped with haste to be opened with abandon and cheer. Last minute festivities to linger across years of happier memories.
I’m still holding sacred gingerbread houses of Christmases past with gratitude for a less cluttered season of now.
o christmas tree
December 8, 2015 § 2 Comments
Each morning I marvel at the harmony of popsicle reindeer and painted pottery, hand-blown glass and milestone mementos.
Some memories fill the shape of my hand, I could tell you the weight of an ornament in sentiment. Others tell a story of fleeting childhood passions; ballerina slippers or characters in forgotten stories. More, still, are beautiful gifts that settle elegantly among the boughs weighting the space between lights with magic. Collectively they share a history that eludes my camera with every failed photograph.
I cannot find an angle that demonstrates the unlikely serenity of so many conflicting designs or the sentimental value of a few unremarkable ornaments. It is a sight I cannot reproduce to preserve, despite my stubborn determinedness. Instead I settle into the delightful stillness of remembering.
Some moments are meant to be lost to joy.
seasons of joy
December 2, 2015 § Leave a comment
The tree is settling, stretching its humble branches in want of ornaments still nestled in last year’s memories. For now its earthy scent fills the air with a fragrance as clean as the dusting of snow that blankets our morning lawn.
I have only begun to unpack forgotten keepsakes into newly familiar corners of our home. Anticipation and nostalgia linger over bins filled with colorful remnants of holidays past; elementary school wreaths crafted from construction paper handprints and wish lists drawn in earnest childhood print.
There is a quiet beauty in the undone beginnings of this season, a grace born of simple traditions that thread our days with mindfulness for the fleeting magic of childhood holidays.
Joy spills like Christmas carols across the silence and my cup runneth over.
to my children
December 25, 2014 § 2 Comments
In the week ahead I will settle our home in anticipation of the year to come, tenderly nestling decorations into safekeeping for another holiday. I cannot imagine the days that will fill the space between this Christmas and next any more than I can tuck this day into yesterday without first holding my finger to my favorite pieces, stretching each moment into tomorrow.
This morning the sweet indulgences of your stockings were quickly forgotten as you rushed to offer one another items crafted, thoughtfully, for each other. Blurry photographs and poor lighting captured these fleeting moments of surprise; sweeping smiles and wide eyes punctuating sleepy enthusiasm. In contrast, the most tender disappointment came briefly and privately in the lines of an apology for wishes ungranted. It is the moment I most wish I could undo in my powerlessness to grant the impossible. Another year of misplaced magic lost in a letter for Santa.
The sweetest moment still came at the most unexpected hour, late on Christmas Eve, in stolen minutes of hushed giggles as you each conspired to play in an unwitting protest of bedtime. I sat on the perimeter of your silliness, peeking from the pages of my book to gather the images of your dimpled nonsense. Despite the angst of your unexceptional daily irritations, there was a tenderness in your company last night that I could not bring myself to interrupt. This will be the Christmas image I hold most tightly in my memories, before the stockings were emptied or the gifts unwrapped.
Smiles stuck to the corners of my thoughts as sleep begs my attention.
Love,
Mom
life, in pictures
December 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I resisted family pictures for years, hiding my insecurities by avoiding the camera. I suppose we are all our worst critic, the camera so often a magnifying glass for the truths we distort with self-talk born of inaccurate comparisons; younger selves and older selves, others and ours all contrasted in the context of contentment.
The holidays are a temptation of comparison. Like the choreography of clothing in frenzied moments to intentionally create a casually unintentional image of family, our postmarked wishes are our Sunday best with the sound turned down. We cannot hear the difficult pieces of complicated worries any more than the ricochet of giggles that ripple between frames.
Look to the eyes for markers of joy, there the soul is most unguarded, but do not linger in another’s expression of happiness to mark the value of your own experiences.
Never compare your insides to everyone else’s outsides. – Anne Lamott
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