Christmas this year was a quiet event for us, and we welcomed the opportunity to stay in our pajamas as a family on Christmas day. With no where to go, and no one coming to us, we really enjoyed following the rhythm of the day instead of a schedule of tasks.
We consumed a little too much sugar, played a lot of games, and explored the new toys Santa brought.
Christmas is mellow for us, and we prefer simple to lavish. (I admit that last year was over the top with the addition of a bounce house, but that was a bit out of character for us. And it continues to be an investment that a mom, in winter, in Iowa, with three boys, truly appreciates.) I am humbled that my kids are overjoyed with what Santa brings, though they never "ask" for anything specific, and don't get a heap of stuff. They burst with joy at the Angry Birds band-aids and superhero toothbrushes in their stockings. And when the open boards games that I'm pretty positive they've never heard of, they say things like "How did Santa know that this is exactly what I wanted?!" My kids have somehow now yet caught on to the "list for Santa" thing, and I still have complete control over how much and what they get from Santa. We like to do two gifts per boy (the first is a game that the whole family can share, and the second is a toy specifically chosen for them), and then one joint gift (which this year was a box of MagnaTiles to add to our collection, for more building options. Have I raved about these yet? If I haven't, consider that a future post).
Jack knows most of his classmates own a Nintendo-DS, but it hasn't occurred to him to ask for one. They love the Wii and it continues to be a delicate balance for me to decide when they play it and for how long, but they didn't ask for Wii games for Christmas. They don't ask, period. They are still young enough that they haven't gotten carried away by the "I want" part of this time of year, and I'm giddy with glee that this allows for us to have all joy on Christmas morning, rather than some of the "Hey, I didn't get ___ even though it was on my list!" I know this won't last forever, so I'm cherishing the youth and innocence of our holidays right now. And once we celebrate delayed holiday gift exchanges with extended family, chances are simplicity will go out the door. But for Christmas day, we had 3 ecstatic boys who at their hershey kisses at breakfast and played games as a family all day. It was joyful and peaceful.
I cherished this even more because of the cloud hanging over our holiday season this year after the unspeakable tragedy in Connecticut. I went through a period of denial after first hearing the news when I was in New Jersey, watching some of the coverage while on my first major dose of codeine. I couldn't cope with hearing more. I've avoided Facebook, news coverage, newspapers, you name it. On Christmas eve, though, we watched an old episode of "The Voice" on Tivo and I was caught off-guard by a tribute they did for the victims of that maniac, singing "Alleluia" while each holding a sign with the name and age of the fallen. I saw so many "6"s that I proceeded to sob for the rest of the evening. I finally sat down and allowed ignorance to fade as I read a news report on CNN about the details. I don't know if it helps to know details. It tears us to shreds. Unlike natural disasters, where we can help sort the wreckage, offer our homes as refuge to those fleeing the damage, and make monetary donations to help rebuild lost homes and infrastructure, there is nothing anyone can do after this type of travesty. No donation will take away the pain of a lost child, no amount of counseling can un-do the lost lives. There are no words to express the unthinkable horror that unfolded that day, nor the inexplicable evil that took over the young man who carried it out. I will never understand, and my heart will always be broken for those parents, husbands, wives, children, and friends of the fallen. Knowing that other parents in this country woke up on Christmas morning to one empty stocking and a world of grief and pain casts a dark cloud over me every day. That pain will never go away, and we will all be changed because of it. I cry, and squeeze my children every day even tighter, for lack of knowing what else to do.
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