I have a confession to make: I am already decorating for Christmas. I know, I know: there is an unspoken, but very clear, rule regarding this. Christmas decorations cannot go up in one's house until after Thanksgiving. It seems to have something to do with allowing Thanksgiving to stand on it's own, enjoy its own time in the spotlight, before the red-suited bully pushes his way on stage. In theory, I agree with this. Thanksgiving is my second favorite holiday. After all, what's not to love about a day dedicated to being grateful for what we have, spending time with family, and eating delicious food?
But, the fact is, my very favorite holiday is Christmas. I love Christmas to a ridiculous degree. The music never gets old for me; in fact, it often makes me tear up. Happy, nostalgic tears, right there in the aisle at Target. I'm a sucker for the decorations. Show me a store that looks, as my husband puts it "like someone puked Christmas all over this place", and I'm in paroxysms of joy. All of my favorite things to cook are family Christmas traditions (my caramels are legendary). I plan out gifts months in advance, but I don't shop until well into the season. Why? Because I love being the stores when they have all their decorations up, music playing, and the amazing buzz of energy from crowds of shoppers. All this from someone who usually avoids crowds at all costs.
I have half a dozen family traditions that we stick to every year. All the kids know that they get to open one gift on Christmas Eve, just before bed. It's always pajamas. Not the most thrilling gift for a kid, but the one time I suggested eliminating the tradition to save money, we about had a mutiny. I was delighted, since this was my favorite tradition as a child. Decorating the Christmas tree means homemade hot chocolate and snacks. Each of my children has a bird assigned to them. I picked it out for them when they were tiny. Every year, they get an ornament of their bird. Ian gets cardinals; Bryn, chickadees; Sam, bluebirds. This is Astrid's first Christmas, and everyone seems to have started giving her owls from birth, so she will be my little owl (which is slightly complicated, since I had also been giving her father owls. I guess we will have to label them somehow). Oddly, I had never gotten myself anything particular until last year. From here on out, I am either a birdhouse, or a nest.
Friends and family treat this love of Christmas the way they would any insane love of something. With polite smiles, snickers behind my back, and "well, that's just the way she it". Just like they would for someone who was really into dolphins, or Star Trek, or coin collecting. It's just this weird thing I do, hahaha.
It doesn't seem super odd until you learn that I'm an atheist. (*record scratch* Wait, what?!) Ummm, yeah. I love Christmas more than anyone over the age of seven. Certainly more than any self-respecting atheist should admit.
I can hear the collective question in everyone's mind: WHY?!
Lets start with the way Christmas is celebrated. There are, on the surface, many secular aspects of it. Santa Clause, though he started as a religious figure, is largely neutral at this point. I believed in Santa a lot longer than most kids. I grew up poor. My mom was a single mother, who put herself through school and then tried to raise the three of us on a teacher's salary. I was familiar, from a very early age, with the idea that things cost money, and we didn't have money. But, somehow, on Christmas morning, the deepest desire of my childish heart would be sitting under that beautiful tree. I know now that it was the result of tremendous sacrifice and effort on the part of my mother, but, back then, magic seemed to be the most logical explanation. And I was the daughter of an unreliable, absent father. The idea that there was a man out there who cared what I wanted, noticed my behavior, and wanted to make me happy? It was comforting.
I love doing things for other people. I don't tend to spend a lot of money on gifts, but I love putting real thought and effort into finding something that will be cherished by a friend or family member. I often make gifts, which adds a whole other layer of fun to the process.
Speaking of making things; food. Oh my. I love to bake, and Christmas is the time I can really go crazy. Cookies, pie, bread, candies! I can make them all! I can give them to random people (the mailman, the UPS guy, the lady from the electric company, the secretary, principal, and all the teachers at the school)! What could be better than that?
There is a big cultural push for charity and service at Christmas time. I love that. I wish it kept up all year, but I will enjoy it while I can. I make an effort to keep it going myself, but sometimes it can feel like a lonely endeavor 'round about July or August. When the whole of society is focused on helping those less fortunate, being giving, being kind...it feels like the kind of world I want to live in. Too often, especially lately, it feels like everyone is divided by ideology, religion, politics. When the majority of people are, for once, paying attention to the "peace on earth, goodwill towards man" thing, we get a bit closer. I'm not saying it's perfect: there are the utterly ridiculous fights about "Merry Christmas" vs "Happy Holidays", and, no, not everyone celebrates anything at all this time of year...but in general, there is a little more positivity out there, and I like that.
And finally, there is the Christmas story itself. I spent several years working on the Labor and Delivery floor of a hospital. I spent a couple more working at a children's hospital. I've been a doula (a professional childbirth assistant) for 12 years. I've seen dozens of babies take their first breath. I've seen thousands more in the hours immediately following that. I've had four babies of my own. Every single time, I am blown away. They are perfect, amazing little bundles of possibility. They can be or do ANYTHING! The story of a child born into less-than-ideal circumstances, who then goes on to save the world? It resonates with me, because...couldn't they all? What if we treated every single child like they were here to save to world? I've found that, usually, kids live up to what we expect from them. There are some really big challenges ahead for humanity. I hope we can leave something other than unending wars and conflict and pockets of starvation and poverty scattered amongst the technology and wealth. So far, what I'm seeing from the adults isn't encouraging. I'm hoping I can expect better from all the kids I've known.
So, if I am downright annoying, what with the singing and the decorating and the baking and sappy Christmas stuff, at least now you know why. And if you are looking for someone to go caroling with, or driving around looking at lights, or wandering around the mall, or baking cookies...well, I'm your girl.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Swim
It has been just under 16 years since the day I stood in a small room in Des Moines, and took the oath of enlistment for the Army National Guard. I was 19 years old.
It was a different world. The National Guard was in a constant state of budget crisis. There was always more that needed to be done than there was money to do it. A sign in an office at the armory said "We have done so much, with so little, for so long, we are now convinced that we can do absolutely everything, with absolutely nothing". There was no war. Sure, some units were going to Kosovo, and about every six months the Commander would trot out some new global emergency that he was sure we would be called up for, urging us to get into shape, pay attention in training, and keep track of our gear. The Desert Storm veterans used to tease us, telling us we would never get a combat patch. We could stay in for 20 years and never leave the US. Hell, if the budget got cut again, we would never leave Iowa!
Things changed.
Today, I got to spend some time with my oldest, Ian. He's 18 now. Living on his own, busy with his own life, so getting a few hours of his time is precious to me. We got on the subject of childhood memories, and how it can be difficult to remember the order of events. This happened, and That happened...but when did This happen in relation to That? It gets muddled.
"What was going on when I was 9?" He asked, "I can't remember, exactly."
"Well," I said, "That was when I was in Texas, going to Medic training."
"Oh, now I remember!" he said. "I was all worried, because you were helping take care of the people who had to leave Katrina, and I knew you couldn't swim. I was having lots of nightmares, and I kept trying to figure out if I could ride my bike to Texas, because I was a good swimmer, and you aren't."
There is always, especially at this time of year, so recently after Veteran's Day, a lot of talk about the sacrifices members of the military make. Some people even remember to honor their families, who often sacrifice even more. I often say that staying in has been the ultimate act of selfishness on my part, because I put my family through hell so that I can do something I love. I've never felt the truth of that more strongly than I did today.
My nine year old son wanted to ride his bike from Minnesota to Texas to protect me from flooding that he was afraid was near me. Between that 16 weeks of training, and the 16 months of deployment, a little boy spent years having nightmares about my safety. That fact clamped down on me like a vice.
"Listen," I said. "I want you to know that I know my being in has been hard for you. It's hurt you. You must have felt so alone and so sad. I never wanted that. Ever. And I'm sorry."
He looked stunned. And a little teary-eyed. Maybe he thought I hadn't noticed.
"You have nothing to apologize for." His voice is so deep. When did he stop sounding like a little boy? "Everything you did, you did for us. I knew that. I know that. I'm proud to be your son."
Thank you, Ian. I don't think you know how often you really did keep my head above the water.
It was a different world. The National Guard was in a constant state of budget crisis. There was always more that needed to be done than there was money to do it. A sign in an office at the armory said "We have done so much, with so little, for so long, we are now convinced that we can do absolutely everything, with absolutely nothing". There was no war. Sure, some units were going to Kosovo, and about every six months the Commander would trot out some new global emergency that he was sure we would be called up for, urging us to get into shape, pay attention in training, and keep track of our gear. The Desert Storm veterans used to tease us, telling us we would never get a combat patch. We could stay in for 20 years and never leave the US. Hell, if the budget got cut again, we would never leave Iowa!
Things changed.
Today, I got to spend some time with my oldest, Ian. He's 18 now. Living on his own, busy with his own life, so getting a few hours of his time is precious to me. We got on the subject of childhood memories, and how it can be difficult to remember the order of events. This happened, and That happened...but when did This happen in relation to That? It gets muddled.
"What was going on when I was 9?" He asked, "I can't remember, exactly."
"Well," I said, "That was when I was in Texas, going to Medic training."
"Oh, now I remember!" he said. "I was all worried, because you were helping take care of the people who had to leave Katrina, and I knew you couldn't swim. I was having lots of nightmares, and I kept trying to figure out if I could ride my bike to Texas, because I was a good swimmer, and you aren't."
There is always, especially at this time of year, so recently after Veteran's Day, a lot of talk about the sacrifices members of the military make. Some people even remember to honor their families, who often sacrifice even more. I often say that staying in has been the ultimate act of selfishness on my part, because I put my family through hell so that I can do something I love. I've never felt the truth of that more strongly than I did today.
My nine year old son wanted to ride his bike from Minnesota to Texas to protect me from flooding that he was afraid was near me. Between that 16 weeks of training, and the 16 months of deployment, a little boy spent years having nightmares about my safety. That fact clamped down on me like a vice.
"Listen," I said. "I want you to know that I know my being in has been hard for you. It's hurt you. You must have felt so alone and so sad. I never wanted that. Ever. And I'm sorry."
He looked stunned. And a little teary-eyed. Maybe he thought I hadn't noticed.
"You have nothing to apologize for." His voice is so deep. When did he stop sounding like a little boy? "Everything you did, you did for us. I knew that. I know that. I'm proud to be your son."
Thank you, Ian. I don't think you know how often you really did keep my head above the water.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Season's change
When we lived in town, I could always tell when it had snowed during the night. I would wake up, and all the outside sounds would be muffled. Out here on the acreage, the only sound we get, usually, is the wind. So it was a bit of surprise to wake up Saturday morning to discover I was living in a snow globe. Winter has arrived.
Not on the calendar, of course. Minnesota winters do not feel the need to constrain themselves to some artificially enforced time line. They creep out in either direction, hanging on longer than we would like, showing up earlier than we'd hoped. They are the ultimate bad guest.
I grew up in southern and central California. Winter, for us, was a time of fog and rain. Occasionally, the edges of the puddles would gain a slim margin of ice, which we kids found highly entertaining. Snow was like Disneyland: something we planned and traveled for. About once a year, we would head to the mountains to "see the snow". Since we didn't have the required clothing, we improvised. Jeans awkwardly forced over top of sweat pants. Two long sleeved shirts and hoodie worn under the lightweight "winter coat" we used in the valley. We would drive for hours, arrive in Yosemite National Park, find an empty field, play in the snow, load up the car, buy hot chocolate, and head home, feeling like we had really experienced winter. One year, at home, I made some statement about how it "doesn't feel like Christmas without snow", which caused some major hilarity in the family: at that point in my life, I'd never actually seen snow while it was falling.
Easter was a time for pastel sun dresses and white sandals. My easter dress was always some lightweight, frothy confection that I couldn't help twirling and skipping about in. We would put on sunscreen before heading out to the egg hunt on the lawn of the courthouse, surrounded by lush greenery and a riot of flowers. A picnic usually followed.
Homemade halloween costumes were often based off of a leotard and tights, and trick-or-treating didn't stop until your feet hurt too bad to keep going, or your plastic pumpkin was stuffed to overflowing. We often had a halloween-themed birthday party for my sister (born November 1st), and the backyard would be used for bobbing for apples and other games.
My kid's reality is slightly different. Oh, those frothy easter dresses and cute sandals hit the stores just the same as they did when I was young. But, in Minnesota, easter often arrives when snow is still on the ground. With my boys, at least, we could go with a long sleeved dress shirt and a pastel sweater vest. For the girls? Those twirly dresses I loved so much are completely impractical. One year, I made Bryn a dress: pale pink polar fleece, worn over a white turtle neck, leggings that were one step removed from being pants, and snowboots. If you want to have fun with hiding eggs, don't dye them. Throw the eggs out in the yard to blend in with the snow. Good luck, kids!
Halloween costumes are selected based on what can fit over a snowsuit. It would be climatically, if not culturally, appropriate to go as Inuit every year. Trick-or-treating ends as soon as one of the kids complains that they can't feel their fingers and toes (which is usually about 45 minutes after I've decided I'm on the verge of succumbing to hypothermia, myself). A few years ago, Bryn actually braved sleet to collect her share of the diabetes bait. Luckily, by then she was traveling in a pack of friends, because there was no way in hell I was going out there.
And the snow. Piles and piles of it. Drifting over the driveway, burying the car, getting tracked into the house to melt into icy little puddles just waiting for stockinged feet. For them, it really won't feel like Christmas without snow. Skiing and sledding and ice skating are things that people really do, rather than abstract stories in books. Granted, they also get to deal with the sub-zero windchills, which, once you emerge from behind the thickest part of our shelter belt, down by the mailbox, are downright brutal. And that, of course, is right where the school bus will pick them up.
This probably sounds pretty negative. The fact is, I love it. The snow is amazingly beautiful, and peaceful. The cold makes me think hard about whether or not I really need to go run that errand...which means I spend more time doing things at home with my family, and less time running around. One year, during a particularly busy and stressful Christmas, a perfectly-timed Christmas Eve blizzard stranded us at the apartment we lived in. I was initially upset about the various family gatherings we were missing, but it ended up being one of my favorite memories. We stayed in. Just me, BJ, and the two older kids (the younger two having not been born yet). The complex had an indoor pool and spa, and we ventured down to make use of it. We were the only ones there, and the snowflakes outside were the size of cotton balls.
And, after 20 years living in the midwest, I have adapted. I've learned how to layer. I'm ashamed to admit that it took until two years ago before I discovered the wonder of wool socks, and snow boots chosen for their function rather than their fashion. I own snowpants. I've got a hat lined with real rabbit fur. I'm even starting to eyeball my husband's Carhart coveralls (I call them his Gingerbreadman Suit), with a thought towards getting my own. Little by little, I am laying claim to this season.
This year, for my birthday, I got snowshoes. That snow globe world out there is just waiting to be explored.
Not on the calendar, of course. Minnesota winters do not feel the need to constrain themselves to some artificially enforced time line. They creep out in either direction, hanging on longer than we would like, showing up earlier than we'd hoped. They are the ultimate bad guest.
I grew up in southern and central California. Winter, for us, was a time of fog and rain. Occasionally, the edges of the puddles would gain a slim margin of ice, which we kids found highly entertaining. Snow was like Disneyland: something we planned and traveled for. About once a year, we would head to the mountains to "see the snow". Since we didn't have the required clothing, we improvised. Jeans awkwardly forced over top of sweat pants. Two long sleeved shirts and hoodie worn under the lightweight "winter coat" we used in the valley. We would drive for hours, arrive in Yosemite National Park, find an empty field, play in the snow, load up the car, buy hot chocolate, and head home, feeling like we had really experienced winter. One year, at home, I made some statement about how it "doesn't feel like Christmas without snow", which caused some major hilarity in the family: at that point in my life, I'd never actually seen snow while it was falling.
Easter was a time for pastel sun dresses and white sandals. My easter dress was always some lightweight, frothy confection that I couldn't help twirling and skipping about in. We would put on sunscreen before heading out to the egg hunt on the lawn of the courthouse, surrounded by lush greenery and a riot of flowers. A picnic usually followed.
Homemade halloween costumes were often based off of a leotard and tights, and trick-or-treating didn't stop until your feet hurt too bad to keep going, or your plastic pumpkin was stuffed to overflowing. We often had a halloween-themed birthday party for my sister (born November 1st), and the backyard would be used for bobbing for apples and other games.
My kid's reality is slightly different. Oh, those frothy easter dresses and cute sandals hit the stores just the same as they did when I was young. But, in Minnesota, easter often arrives when snow is still on the ground. With my boys, at least, we could go with a long sleeved dress shirt and a pastel sweater vest. For the girls? Those twirly dresses I loved so much are completely impractical. One year, I made Bryn a dress: pale pink polar fleece, worn over a white turtle neck, leggings that were one step removed from being pants, and snowboots. If you want to have fun with hiding eggs, don't dye them. Throw the eggs out in the yard to blend in with the snow. Good luck, kids!
Halloween costumes are selected based on what can fit over a snowsuit. It would be climatically, if not culturally, appropriate to go as Inuit every year. Trick-or-treating ends as soon as one of the kids complains that they can't feel their fingers and toes (which is usually about 45 minutes after I've decided I'm on the verge of succumbing to hypothermia, myself). A few years ago, Bryn actually braved sleet to collect her share of the diabetes bait. Luckily, by then she was traveling in a pack of friends, because there was no way in hell I was going out there.
And the snow. Piles and piles of it. Drifting over the driveway, burying the car, getting tracked into the house to melt into icy little puddles just waiting for stockinged feet. For them, it really won't feel like Christmas without snow. Skiing and sledding and ice skating are things that people really do, rather than abstract stories in books. Granted, they also get to deal with the sub-zero windchills, which, once you emerge from behind the thickest part of our shelter belt, down by the mailbox, are downright brutal. And that, of course, is right where the school bus will pick them up.
This probably sounds pretty negative. The fact is, I love it. The snow is amazingly beautiful, and peaceful. The cold makes me think hard about whether or not I really need to go run that errand...which means I spend more time doing things at home with my family, and less time running around. One year, during a particularly busy and stressful Christmas, a perfectly-timed Christmas Eve blizzard stranded us at the apartment we lived in. I was initially upset about the various family gatherings we were missing, but it ended up being one of my favorite memories. We stayed in. Just me, BJ, and the two older kids (the younger two having not been born yet). The complex had an indoor pool and spa, and we ventured down to make use of it. We were the only ones there, and the snowflakes outside were the size of cotton balls.
And, after 20 years living in the midwest, I have adapted. I've learned how to layer. I'm ashamed to admit that it took until two years ago before I discovered the wonder of wool socks, and snow boots chosen for their function rather than their fashion. I own snowpants. I've got a hat lined with real rabbit fur. I'm even starting to eyeball my husband's Carhart coveralls (I call them his Gingerbreadman Suit), with a thought towards getting my own. Little by little, I am laying claim to this season.
This year, for my birthday, I got snowshoes. That snow globe world out there is just waiting to be explored.
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