A Jumble of Christmas

Memories piled on top of each other. Tangled toegther. People. Places Things.

A bungalow with tables piled high with Swedish dishes.

Water color and masking tape paint projects.

Presents wrapped in paper bags.

Late night ideas destined to bring in millions.

Mexican folk songs and homemade pinatas on a Wednesday night.

A bartered pirate ship.

Sweet potato chili. Roasted chicken things. Shepherd's Pie.

Performance art with four kids in tow.

Red-footed pajama clad wrestlers.

The genius of drunken song writing.

Too many cookies.

A dad enamored with his son's Christmas gifts.

Oma's Christmas magic, reliable as ever.

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Christmas Cousins

Posed pictures have stories to tell too. And these pictures have a loud backstory yelling "Ala-mae, Jettie Blythe... look over here" "Smile girls," "No, no, no, stay over there." Seven adults and two older children crowding around furniture moved out of the way to create a blank wall space. Commanding me when to click, trying to balance a wobbly five month old, rearranging ill-fitting santa hats, moving the lights to make things a little less graphic.

While under ordinary circumstances, the pictures capture a memory, in this case the pictures made them.

Two very important lessons learned: 1) I never, ever want to be a baby photographer. Never. Unless the mama is holding the baby. Then...maybe. 2) Instagram does not mess around when it comes to naked baby pictures. They definitely kicked my picture off last night.

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Christmas Tree Tales

Last year, our first year in our new house, I thought I wanted to switch up our Christmas tree. I thought wanted something less colorful. Something with lots more white, with pine cones maybe. Our tree suddenly seemed garish to me in our new space, a little tacky or kitschy.  But the kids would have none of it. And besides, I didn't have the money to switch it up anyway.

By the time we were trimming it last Thanksgiving, I realized the error in my thinking. Christmas trees, like most things in life, should serve a greater purpose than being a fashion statement.

I distinctly remember gathering the things for our very first Christmas tree. Sena was nine months old, and I had saved a hundred dollar gift certificate to Pier 1 my aunt had given me for my wedding. With Sena in the sling, we ventured out on our own, which didn't happen very often. I usually did everything with my mom, then as now. But my mom had just bought a house in North Carolina, and she was busy doing all the things that are involved in buying (and most importantly, decorating) real estate.  Anyhow, Sena and I went shopping and made what felt like very important design decisions, just the two of us.

I was really proud of myself. I was proud of the pink and turquoise ribbon and the brass star. I was proud of all the bright wood and felt ornaments, proud of the glass bulbs I later found at K-Mart. I was 20 years old, and it felt like the most adult thing I had ever done, and I had done it without second guessing myself.

None of this is particularly significant, but you couldn't have convinced me of that at the time. I was setting the tone for my family's future holidays.

Every year, each of the kids gets an ornament to add to the tree. Buying those ornaments might be the part of Christmas shopping that I put the most thought into. The year we went to Paris, that's where Sena's ornament came from. Gus got a carved shark back when every book we read was about those scary, beautiful beasts of the sea. I'd be lying if I pretened that I didn't try to find ornaments that fit with the style of our tree. The tone I set that first Christmas stays with us. The tree tells our story, and our story is important to me. Tradition is important to me, more important to me than creative change.

So our tree remains bright and full of jewel tones and memories. It might not be the tree I would pick now if I was starting fresh. But that's the moral of the story. I'm not. I already have a half written story, and there is no need to change it.

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This Weekend We / Christmas Intentions

This year will be slow when we need it to be, full of excitement when that's what we want. It will be defined by thoughtful  moments.

Tomorrow we might string popcorn. Yesterday Sena and I made wreaths. We might make wrapping paper or bake ginger bread, drink hot chocolate with cayenne and cinnamon or watch A Charlie Brown Christmas for the very first time.  I almost made a list of things I wanted to do this holiday season, and then decided against it. Lists just beg to be checked off, and I don't want the pressure of things left undone. Whatever we do, it will be intentional.

Arlo is doing his best to get into the spirit. He sings "Jingle bells, hey!" with vigor and enthusiasm. Even his walk seems more joyful these past few days. He enjoys playing with the Christmas ornaments we have left in his reach, things made out of wood or felt.

On Saturday night we finally drove down to Flat Iron Farm's in St. Mary's County. I've been meaning to do it for at least a half dozen years. And although the pictures don't accurately convey the Christmas cheer, it was there all right. We paid for over-priced pony rides, took silly pictures, hung out with some baby goats.  We bought old fashioned candies and fried apple pies. The hour long car ride would not have seemed worth it if the kids hadn't been so damned pleased with it all. But they were, so it was. On the way home, we dodged deer and stopped for pizza.  It was the sort of night that is what I want from this December.

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Christmas Scenes Part 1

My honest intention was to buy nothing on Black Friday.  However, the day's purchases did end up including one dozen donuts, a quart of apple cider, and a seven foot tall Douglas Firm. We had planned on chopping down our own tree at my sister's house, but given the fact that it's deer season, we opted instead for the local nursery. On Sunday, when hunters take their day of rest, we might head up there to forage for some greenery, but I was impatient to put up the tree and didn't want to risk being mistaken for prey. 

We listened to David Grisman's Christmas album, and Arlo broke four glass bulbs. Sena and Gus found their yearly ornaments and tried to hide them in the tree's upper branches, out of Arlo's reach. Tom spent no less than twenty minutes carefully tightening the strings on his banjo ornament before he broke one. Then he spent another ten minutes trying to photograph said ornament.  Unfortunately, he shot it vertically, and I pretty much never use vertical shots, so you will have to use your imagination on that account. 

I'm going to try my hardest not to be a giant Scrooge this season. A few weeks ago I was reading through old blog posts, and almost as annoying as my constant mention of exactly how much daylight any given day included, was my passive aggressive moaning about December.  No child wants a spiritless mother. I'm going to try to find a way to take charge of the holiday, not let it consume me as it has in years past.  I'm going to focus on creating some stress free, inexpensive traditions, and maybe, just maybe, come January I won't feel so resentful. Yesterday was a good start. 

In other news, how has my daughter grown so tall? 

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