So This is Christmas

It came, it went. Why does it always happen so quickly? We worked and worked making peppermint bark, homemade wrapping paper, a batch of winter brew, cinnamon rolls and spinach balls, and spent hours sewing up a storm of soft goodies to get everything ready for The Big Day, and then it came and went in a giant holiday rush of sweet goodness.

After the big San Francisco trip, I kind of freaked out when I realized how soon Christmas really was, re-prioritized a few things, then downsized our Christmas gift giving list. We worked with the "less is more" concept and I think it turned out pretty well. Most people got a small, homemade token of some sort that Jack and/or Sawyer had participated in the making of. (In case you are wondering, it is now perfectly acceptable to end your sentence with a preposition. Trust me, I am an English teacher.)

I also decided that instead of being the family events photographer, I would put down my camera and live in the moment, rather than stuck behind the lens attempting to capture the moment.

So less was more. At least I hope it was. I'm not sure if it was a combination of laziness and frugality or simply common sense that led us to the decision not to give the kids many toys this year. They each got a pair of pajamas, a homemade doll, and a few little trinkets that were sure to please. Sawyer got his own water bottle and Jack got a Lego headlamp (and in case you didn't know, it was the year of the headlamp, apparently.).

Sawyer got an apron, and I'm not quite sure what I was thinking, because I quickly realized that I'm not quite ready to have his very special brand of "help" in the kitchen just yet.

Even thought we had deliberately simplified our gift giving to the kids, I did catch myself in a fleeting moment of panic on Christmas Eve when the stockings were filled and the few gifts sat beneath the tree. Had we done enough? Would they be happy? Would it be magical and special and everything that Christmas is supposed to be?

Then again, isn't the better gift the one that's gained when you learn to appreciate what you have instead of wanting what you don't? But how do you teach that? And I guess that's really all I want for my kids. I know we'll never be rich, and I know that because that's not one of our life goals. I also know that we'll never buy the kids indulgent toys or things we can't really afford, because those things don't reflect our family values. So how do we teach our boys to recognize gifts as sentiments rather than items? Can it be done? I welcome any suggestions in this department...

I think that we all experienced the feeling as a child of opening a present that you didn't really want. And trying to fake like you liked it, when in reality you wanted to toss it into the pile of wrapping paper and cross your fingers for the next one. I vividly remember this happening one Christmas when I was probably nine or ten. My mom had put together this tackle box filled with sewing tools and it seemed to me, the ungrateful daughter that I was, that she had given me this gift with herself in mind, rather than me. As is ME! ME! CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE! To put it simply, I thought it was a stupid present and I remember posing for the camera while wistfully eyeing the remaining packages under the tree. What was I hoping for? Headbands? The newest Wham! tape? A pair of Guess jeans? I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure I didn't fake my enthusiasm well about that sewing box.

But now that I am an adult and a mother and a daughter who no longer has her mother, I see that sewing box through a completely different lens. I can imagine my mom strolling through the aisles of FabricLand, picking and choosing through seam rippers and pincushions and buttons for just the right things. I imagine that she loved every moment she spent creating that unique gift for me and thinking of the sewing we would do together and reflecting on the gift of the craft that she was passing on to me. I bet she knew in her heart that deep down inside I was a seamstress, just like she was, and I'm sure she knew that someday I'd experience the supreme satisfaction of making the things that cannot be bought.

And now, today and every day that I live this life, I wish I could go back and appreciate that gift. I would lay my head against her fuzzy blue robe and inhale her sweet mom-smell and feel her soft hands stroking my hair and say thank you. Thank you for this gift. And for all of the gifts. Thank you.

I hope she knew.

I find myself writing about my mom a lot on this blog. In case you don't already know, my mom died at the age of 45 of colon cancer. I was 19 and my brother was 13. I won't insult her spirit by saying that she "fought hard" or "lost the battle" because that somehow implies that some people fight harder than others and that somehow effort, willpower, or some unseen attribute can "beat" cancer. I never went to grief counseling and I can say with absolute certainty that I have not "gotten over" her death. So it just comes out at certain times and I guess I just need to let it flow.

And I thought about my mom a lot as I sewed those pajamas and dolls. I thought about the skill that she taught me and what a gift it truly is. I thought these things as I stitched on her old machine, using her old pincushions and scissors. I thought about how much I miss her. I thought about how much I love her for the things she taught me.

It turns out that the boys loved their pajamas and dolls and new things. And all of the grandparents made up for any of our shortcomings in the giving of toys, and maybe that's how it should be. The boys were happy, satisfied, fulfilled, and loved. It was a beautiful Christmas, with just a tiny bit of sorrow.

Jack and Sawyer spent Christmas day with their adorable cousin Xavier, who turned two on Christmas Eve. Jack could not believe his luck when he realized we'd be having birthday cake on Christmas.

And there were Christmas games! Sound corny? I assure you they were not!

Sawyer and Xavier had some serious male bonding time. If you are wondering why my son is topless, it is because he stuffed his face at dinner and then ran laps around the house until he threw up on himself. I guess it's not really a party unless somebody pukes.

Just when we thought the festivities were winding down, we received a dinner invite from some of my oldest family friends. We were treated to the company of dear friends, gourmet pizza, fine wine, and the now infamous phrase "I'll watch the kids while you guys get naked!", which was Liz's effervescent way of inviting us to take a sauna.

If I never cut my boys' hair again, it will be Soleo's fault.

I wanted to show you the dolls up close, but when I tried to set up a photo shoot, Sawyer came along looking for a snuggle. His blanket has an opium-like effect on him.

I'd been harassing Brent about building a play kitchen for the boys and it just so turned out that Liz had an extra play stove, circa 1980. I bet you had this one, too.

I did let Sawyer help a bit in the kitchen. He's pretty good at turning the cookbook pages.

So that's it. The whole big Christmas shebang. And maybe more about me and my childhood and damaged psyche than you ever wanted to know. But hey, if you can't stand the carbonation of Talking Rain, maybe you should switch to Perrier.

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