Some Rambling Thoughts on Christmas

Last night, I was moving fast on the train to Christmas burn-out (must have missed the Polar Express). Fortunately for me, I had to take my son's friend home to his parents, who are good friends of ours as well. They asked how I was doing and got an earful (sorry guys) and they're not even the first friends I've cornered this month with my grumpiness (sorry other friends). Truth is, I've definitely been a little off this season--angry at too much traffic and too many sweets and too little something else, but what exactly it was I couldn't have told you. The nice thing about last night is that I put my finger on a few things--both those missing and those in over-abundance.


And then I wrote an essay about it. For my food blog. And then I decided that it didn't belong there; it belonged here. Among close friends. And then--to make a long story just a tinge shorter--somewhere in the cut and paste, it got lost, which kind of bummed me out. 


Nevertheless, I'll try to re-capture some of those thoughts and feelings, although I have to warn you that thoughts and feelings can sometimes be pesky to recapture. 


It started with food of course. There's been too much of it lately. Not just at home either. The kids have been bombarded with it, especially at school. During the last week, Elizabeth's teacher--who is sweet and creative and fun and terribly loved by Elizabeth, gave them treats every day of the week. Lots of them. I'm usually okay with sweets. But a little moderation is nice. But Vogel has a policy that you can't bring homemade treats to school (erg and double erg), which meant the kids were just stuffing themselves with candy canes, store-bought cookies, and the like. And then the kids would get home, and I'd be like, "Let's make cookies." (Or sometimes, "I have to make cookies right now for such and such a thing that I signed up for.") And the kids would say, "Yeah" and Emma would get into everything and the kids would start pretending to be ninjas right there in the kitchen and I'd wind up sending them out to go watch a movie or something and make them myself and then the kids would want to eat 12 even though they'd only had--say--3 bites total of dinner. And I'd be like, "Sure, whatever, just please put your jammies on and stop jumping off the couch, and also somebody go get Emma because I hear her flushing the toilet again." 


It got to the point where people were starting to request (demand) gingerbread candies as dessert for eating breakfast. 


Which is kind of how I felt it was in other areas of my life. Like we were getting too much of the good stuff for our own good. I'd go to the store and stand in lines and go to the parking lot and sit in lines. And everyone looked just as grumpy as I felt. The muscles in my back were starting to be permanently clenched. And then I'd forget broccoli or molasses and realize that at some point this week, I would have to return to the madness. It was enough to make St. Nicolas cry. But at least he has his flying gray horse to get him out of the Walmart left turn lane.


So you see that my Christmas attitude/spirit hasn't quite been as it should. 


I knew of course, that this is not what I wanted and that this is not what Christmas is or is meant to be. But I couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what it was that so off. And then, in a strange sort of way, it ended with food as well. Well, it ended with good friends who love me and let me ramble on about food and other things. Just like you guys are. My kids were getting too many sweets. And I--almost stubbornly--was contributing to this. And why? Because it wasn't food we were after, or at least what I was after. It was the joy of baking Christmas cookies together--the warmth of the oven, the smell of good food baking, the project you do with your mother, or that she does for you because she loves you. It was giving them away to family and friends. And we were missing that. Missing the warmth, ritual, tradition and replacing it with plenty of saccharine overabundance. This is not what I want for my cookies. Or for other areas in my life/Christmas either. 


And so I wish to bid adieu to the Christmas factory in the sky, or more realistically, Kansas (or China). I wish to have a Christmas of festivity and fullness, not because it is my Christmas right to do so, a right which I will enforce if necessary. But because it is a special privilege to celebrate the birth of Christ with my friends and family. In this way, Christmas requires from me a bit of carefulness. Which, admittedly, can be its own kind of risk--as it still tends toward a yearning for perfection 


Not perfect cookie or perfect present or Martha Steward perfection, but the perfection which commits: 'I will be calm this season; I will be prepared this season; I will simplify this season; I will remember to do right be everyone and remember Jesus this season.' A carefulness (and carefulness and I have a long history together) that can lead to a lot of beating oneself up when you forget your carefulness and realize that your entire week before Christmas is jam-packed with work and yoga and music practices and other stuff. Or that you just erased the darn essay that was much shorter and much better and that was supposed to center you, blast it all. Yeah, I told you carefulness and I have a long history together. 


So with my care, I must also invite in a lot of joy. 


After I lost my essay, Emma woke up screaming and Kip got her and the two of them were in playing on the bed while I scribbled thoughts on little scraps of paper and then wadded them up just like a kid would do in frustration. And then Kip called me in and I went and I laid on the bed and he stroked my leg and Emma jumped around on me. And it wasn't perfect. And it wasn't careful. But I smiled a couple times. Because there was some joy in it. And some atonement. Which--really--is what Christmas is ALL about. It made the night feel a little better. Even when the ninjas broke out and had to go to bed without stories. Yes, even then.