scribblechic

It is a morning of traditions stacked neatly into children’s boots and sleepy worries for imperfect days under the festive distractions of holiday cheer. Too often we forget the uncomfortable sharp corners of everyday experiences clouded by sentiment and nostalgia for holidays.

Beneath the magic of white lights and the haze of holiday music, even tireless nutcrackers cannot guard against error or illness, unkindness or the mundane. There is still work to be done, homework and laundry accumulate in our distraction; a sick child and difficult disappointment do not consult the calendar for invitation.

Today I am prioritizing my perspective with an appreciation for the imperfect moments of holiday cheer; choosing to look for the promise behind difficult experiences. Like tiny chocolates behind cardboard doors, I’m beginning my day in search of sweet discoveries.

Twenty minutes before the start of the school day my daughter asked if we had time to read a book. Her hair still tangled and her lunch unmade I debated nestling up with a book or scurrying through last minute preparations. Bewitched by a smile still missing a tooth I settled beside my daughter and indulged her request. She choose a holiday story, a tale of a Christmas tree that is perpetually trimmed to fit a home, the excess piece unknowingly gifted to a new family until each bough belongs.

Hours later as I endeavored to accomplish a list of holiday errands I found myself staring inside a store front at a collection of holiday books. There wasn’t a gift on my list or task to be tackled that carried the value of the minutes shared with my daughter this morning; a moment manufactured upon demand regardless of responsibilities.

I no longer wanted to surprise my children with a new holiday book, rather I wanted to curl on the bookstore floor and sift through titles for a new friend. Rather than arrive at home with a bakery box hiding a seasonal indulgence, I wanted to watch their eyes scan the local baker’s shelves for an old favorite or new curiosity. Together.

I am thinking less of Christmas morning and more of the little sharings sprinkled throughout the month of December as we stretch shorter days to encompass stolen moments of  togetherness. Creating time and finding our place beside those who give us a sense of belonging.

Beloved nutcrackers stand sentry and holiday picture books gather well-turned pages for quiet moments ahead. A space has been cleared as we introduce our tree to our home and ornaments nestled in tissue wait to unravel a story of Christmases past. With talisman of joy weighting our home in anticipation for holiday traditions it seems impossible that my head and heart can feel heavy with frustration.

As I tenderly unpack holiday decorations the season deposits emotional baggage to sort and stow. We welcome personalities into our home out of obligation and borrow patience in trade for peace. Loud and all consuming these voices of expectation take greedily without thought for the unrest they cause.

This year as I make my holiday wishes I am sending a silent prayer for a small miracle of my own, somewhere in the soft glow of innumerable white lights I am hoping for tranquility in the company of those whose love fill my days with gratitude for faith in kindness, gifts unseen, and love unending.