Santa's reindeer are well fed

David was very concerned about leaving out some celery for Santa's reindeer.  According to David, Santa's reindeer like celery a lot.  When I suggested that Santa might want a cookie, he looked at me blankly.  Before bed last night, he dug around in the fridge for some celery and left it on the counter for the reindeer.  

Sorry, Santa, no treats for you at this house.  But we hope your reindeer are happy.

Merry Christmas

12/24/08  10:05 PM

12/25/08  6:07 AM

Live nativity

I imagine that my family and their friends in Texas are not acting out the nativity this evening.  But Christmas Eve just isn't Christmas Eve without a reading of Luke 2 accompanied by plenty of towels, scarves, stuffed animals, and, in this family's case, a pair of striped fleece mittens.  So for their benefit, I post this tonight.  (By the way, Greg took charge of our reenactment, and it was definitely a success.  It seems as if, in addition to cookie decorating, he also had hidden talents as an artistic director.) 

And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem...with Mary his espoused wife:

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger:

Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them...

...saying, Glory to God!

On earth peace, good will toward men.

Merry Christmas!

A purple dinosaur-worm Christmas cookie, anyone?

One of my happiest childhood Christmas memories is decorating Christmas cookies at our house with the Nelsons.  I think we only did it once or twice, but it stands out in my mind as this wonderful thing we did every year of my childhood.  For over 20 years I've been longing, every Christmastime, to do it again.  The Nelsons weren't available, but we did invite over some other friends this morning.  

David was more excited about his friends than the cookies.  But he did decorate this one:

Here is a sampling of the others.  Didn't everyone do a fabulous job?
Here is David eating a cookie after his friends had left.  He doesn't look happy.  His friends were gone.  Not even a sugary Christmas cookie covered with gummy bears can make up for that.
The best part about decorating cookies was how much Greg loved it.  He was even more surprised by this than I was.  Once he started, he couldn't stop!  I never knew there were latent creative cookie decorating powers deep within him.  I think we'll have to do this again next year--for Greg!

Happy Christmas Eve!

Two fun things about waiting for Christmas

This

and this

Glory to God

"Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains" is almost David's favorite Christmas song.  He continually sings "Glory to God!  Glory to God!" throughout the day, especially when there is any mention of Baby Jesus or shepherds.

I say it is almost his favorite Christmas song because nothing beats "Jingle Bells."  If I hear "Jingle Bells" one more time...

Even Mary likes "Jingle Bells."  She always claps along with a big grin on her face.  What is it about that song?

Maybe by next year they both will have forgotten all about it?  But I suspect fighting "Jingle Bells" is like fighting Santa.  Not worth the effort.

But I'm all for a little more "Glory to God!"

Red bow

Saturday was our church Christmas party.  Don't worry, I didn't bring my camera.  But I do have a picture of Mary in the bath afterwards. With the red bow still in her hair.

(P.S.  Speaking of Christmas parties, we heard through the grapvine that the highlight of Greg's work party was David's reaction to Santa Claus.)  

Two new ornaments

This year we added two new ornaments to our tree.  The first is a little 1903 Wright Flyer that we got at the Air Force Museum.

It's the perfect memento for our time in Dayton.  I love it.

But I love this ornament even more:
It's the first ornament on our tree handmade by one of our children.  David made it at school last week.  I thought I would hate cluttering my tree with school projects.  But this candy cane makes my heart swell with pride.  I love, love, love it.  I still may hate cluttering our Christmas tree with school projects--we only have one so far.  But I have a feeling I'm going to hang on to this one for the long haul.

1 degree (and that's not factoring in the wind chill)

That's how cold it is right now.  I think maybe it's time to get serious about the winter coat thing.  The problem is that I hate winter coats.  

I hate them in the car.  They are not safe for car seats, because they lead you to believe that your children are strapped in tight when they are not.  (Yes, I was completely indoctrinated by the Delaware Office of Highway Safety when David was born, and I like it:  I may not be able to force broccoli down my children's throats but heaven help me if the car seat retainer clip is not exactly at armpit level.)  I personally hate wearing a coat in the car because once the heater warms up, I'm stuck suffocating unless I'm able to perform some fancy acrobatics while driving in order to get the thing off.  And I hate to have my children suffer too.

I also hate coats once we arrive at our destination, especially if it's a store.  Do we sweat it out, uncomfortable and miserable, wearing our coats?  Or do we take them off?  If we're at the mall, we can fill the stroller with our coats, but then there's no room for the baby.  And isn't that the point of the stroller?  If we are grocery shopping, then we need an extra shopping cart just for coats.  The situation is even worse at eating establishments, particularly if there is no obvious place to hang your coat.  Our coats invariably end up on the floor and/or covered with ketchup.  No thanks.  

As a result, I try to avoid winter coats at all costs.  Instead of spending twenty minutes zipping up coats before we leave the house, we make a run for the car, where the kids are quickly (and tightly at perfect 45 degree angles) strapped into their car seats and promptly buried under a mountain of quilts.  That's right, we keep a large stash of blankets in the car, expressly for the purpose of forgoing coats.  The quilts have the added bonus of giving Mary and David something to do in the car--fight over who gets which quilts.  Our coats do go with us in the car--I'm too worried about getting in an accident and being stranded in the cold to leave them at home--we just don't wear them.  Depending on how far it is from our parking space to the store (or restaurant or church or doctor's office), I might put the kids' coats on before they get out of the car.  But often, you just have to be tough in this family--or lucky, like Mary, who gets wrapped in a blanket.  

The problem with my anti-coat attitude is that it's rubbing off on David.  (But not Mary, who, since wearing a coat in this family is such a novelty, likes to sport hers around the house for fun.)  For all of my coat-hating, though, I must insist that David wear one to school.  For one, he needs a coat at school because they go outside every day it's 32 degrees or above.  Running through the parking lot when it's 34 degrees is one thing, but playing outside for twenty minutes in that weather is a different matter.  Even more critical are the societal pressures on me as a mother.  Yes, that's right--good old fashioned peer pressure.  I see all the other children bundled snugly in their sub-40 coats, complete with hats, scarves, and mittens.  (To be honest, the hats, scarves, and mittens are a mystery to me.  How do all these moms manage to find and put on all those accessories for their children every single time they leave the house past Nov. 1?  I admire them.  How do they do it and keep their sanity?)  I want to be like the moms who express their love by keeping their children toasty on a cold winter day.  (But, of course, I only want to be like them when I am around them--otherwise, I evidently don't care if my children catch pneumonia.)  Those puffy, down coats with the faux-fur are like giant arms of love wrapped snugly around David's classmates in warm, caring embraces.   And my kid is wearing an old thin fleece jacket.  What does that say about me?! Correction:  What do David's teachers think that says about me?  Do they see a direct connection between his lack of cold weather gear and the amount of time he spends on the orange chair?  (Is there a connection?!)

So lately I have insisted that David wear a real winter coat to school.  This hasn't been an easy battle.  My first compromise was to zip out the lining.  It looks like a real winter coat (important for teachers and mothers to see, lest I be labeled negligent, never mind that I probably am negligent) but it doesn't feel like one (important for David).  But even after that major compromise, David still basically refuses to wear his coat to school.  This is how bad it's gotten:  We leave for school and I carry his coat to the car.  Then we get to the school parking lot, where he still refuses to let me put his coat on.  So we run to the building and up the steps.  Just INSIDE the building, I put his coat on, and he walks down the hall to his classroom, only to rip it off ten feet before he gets there.  To my relief, his teachers usually see him in his coat and are none the wiser about how long he'd actually been wearing it.  Then, at the end of school, one of his teachers has to physically force him into his coat, so he can leave the classroom, find me, and take it off before he's even left the building.  This is getting ridiculous!  But I know I deserve it.

Last month there was what I considered to be a pretty nice day.  It was in the forties, and it was sunny.  I thought we should take advantage of the "good weather" and go to the park.  So we did.  David was wearing that old thin fleece jacket.  Mary's jacket was even thinner.  No coats, no mittens, no hats.  It was a bit brisk, but my kids are tough (right?).  We were the only ones at the park until a pair of two-year-old twin girls arrived.  Wow--they were decked out like it was the North Pole.  Heavy duty winter coats, hats, and gloves (with each of their little digits in the fingers of the gloves--how did their mom do that?  I can't even get David's thumb in the thumb of his mitten.)  The girls could barely walk (think Ralphie).  And I could see that they were getting hot as they stumbled around the playground.  Yes, yes, I tried not think judgmental thoughts, but my first reaction was, "Whoa!  That is one uptight mom."  From observing them, I learned that they have to strictly obey the rule to keep their hats on.  They were reminded again and again, "Sophia, Caitlyn, if you take off your hats, we will go home.  That's the rule!"  Pretty intense.  By this point I was thinking about what a great mom I was for allowing my children to run around the playground and play in the sand unencumbered by coats and gloves.  

Then I started talking to the mom.  (If you ever want to continue unfairly judging a stranger, don't start up a conversation.)  Turns out they live in Minnesota.  We quickly covered the how-old-are-your-children-they-are-so-cute material, so then there was nothing to talk about...except the weather.  Including wintertime in Minnesota.  Turns out Garrison Keillor wasn't exaggerating.  This mom didn't have to explain to me why her girls were bundled as they were.  We might complain about the winter here in southwestern Ohio, but it's nothing compared to what folks experience up north.  For this family, coats and hats and gloves aren't a cultural inconvenience.  It's a matter of life or death.  So they are not negotiable.  Even when you're visiting Ohio on a not-so-frigid day.  I'll bet those girls will happily wear their coats to preschool.

By the time we left the park that day back in November, a chilling wind had picked up and my children were almost frozen solid.  Maybe what I really need is a few more days like this one today--where the temperature feels like 25 below--to knock a little sense into me.  You know, to convince me that you can't tough out the winter in nothing more than a hoodie.  So then maybe David will wear his coat in the parking lot at school.  And I can feel like a good mom.

Pigtail paradox

The harder I try, the dumber they look.  But if I put them in quick and dirty, and then Mary sleeps on them, mushes banana into them, and then insists that I add a barrette or two, she looks cuter than ever (in a messy sort of way).  See above picture.  

Redemption in the form of nine pictures

Thursday was David's holiday program.  I missed the last one, so I had to make up for it this time by arriving ten minutes early and armed with two cameras.  Greg, who was there too, was given strict instructions to record the program with one camera, while I, with the other camera, took two thousand terrible pictures that no one will ever look at again.  This is to make up for the lack of pictures and video recording from the Halloween program.  To make myself feel even better, I am going to post way too many of those terrible pictures here on my blog.  This is proof to the world that I was there.  Maybe now I'm not the worst mom ever, just in the bottom 10% or so. 

 Here is David waiting for the program to start.  They were expected to sit still and wait for all the parents to arrive.  Waiting was hard.  Later when I asked David what he did in the hour and a half before the program, he said "Wait."

Here is the whole class.  David is second from the right.  Notice the clock.  10:30 on the dot--and I was there!  I also like the "Time For Felt" bulletin board.  I think we all need to make a little more time for felt in our lives, don't you think?  (Jessica?)

Isn't David a cute snowman?
But most of the time, instead of singing and doing the actions like the other children, he sat on his chair like this.  Except when he got out of the chair (three times) to run to mommy and daddy.  He was promptly sent back, of course.  We were only mildly mortified.  Oh, the exasperation on his teacher's face.  
By the end, he got in the swing of things and joined in the fun.


He was happy to receive a little treat at the end.
And even happier when it was all over and he could finally jump out of that chair and run to mommy and daddy.

To be honest, Greg and I were absolutely amazed by how much self-control he showed.  I can't believe how long he sat still in that chair.  We're really proud of him.  Preschool has been good for him, and we're amazed at the progress he has made.  

I've been told there are no more programs until "graduation."  That's probably a good thing, for all of us.

Christmas cheer 2008

I'm not very good at celebrating holidays.  I'm also not very good at letting David help me or allowing him to feel involved at the center of family life.  In an effort to help me feel like I'm celebrating the Christmas season, and even more importantly, to help me remember to include David in that celebration, David and I posted this on our refrigerator:

It's a dump truck delivering a load of Christmas cheer.  Each shape is an ornament with an activity written on it, like "Listen to Christmas music" or "Wrap a gift."  If we do the activity, we get to put the ornament on the tree.  Some, like "Visit a museum" or "Invite friends over to play," aren't directly related to Christmas, but they are fun things that we were already planning on doing in the week or so before Christmas Day.  That's the key--they are all things we would do anyway.  
Aren't I tricky?  All I had to do was tape some construction paper to the fridge and suddenly all the stuff we were going to do anyway (like "Put presents under the tree" and "Watch A Charlie Brown Christmas") becomes part of some grand Christmas celebration.  Cheating, I know.  My lazy self gets to feel like I'm remembering to celebrate Christmas without actually doing anything extra.  Plus, David feels like he's in charge of Christmas and has something to do/think about as we wait for Christmas Day.  

Our Christmas cheer dump truck made its delivery last weekend. The tree started out looking like this:
But since then, among other things (like "Read a Christmas book" and "Deliver donations to the Y"), we went to visit Santa's Reindeer at the Greene, who weren't there, so instead Mary watched her brother dance on the big presents in front of the giant Christmas tree:

David also decorated these bags for his teachers (and he was so particular about it that I had to take a picture):

And we ventured out in the cold to Woodland Lights, where David rode on a really creepy flying Santa Claus:

And some other rides (including a big slide that was his favorite and of which I have no pictures):

Mary watched her brother:
Until she got to join in the fun too and accompanied David on a creepy flying clown:
But then she got kicked off the ride because she broke the rule to keep your arms inside the clown at all times.  

Then we walked through the winter wonderland of lights to Santa's cabin, where David reminded Santa to bring him an army tank:
And Mary cried:
So now the tree is looking a little less bare:
And we still have 6 days to go.

The spirit of giving

David believes Santa should get presents too. 

So he wrapped his orange airplane in a wet washcloth.  Just for Santa.

What a thoughtful boy.

In defense of Santa Claus (to myself)

Christmas was mildly confusing last year for David.  We did our best to teach him the story of Jesus' birth, but there was a lot for a two-year-old to be confused by.  After countless nursery Sunday School lessons, family home evenings, and trips to old frescoed churches ("David, can you find Jesus on the ceiling?"), suddenly the guy with the beard was some man named Joseph, and Jesus was a baby??  To make matters worse, David had a new baby sister...named Mary.  So he eyed us suspiciously when we explained that Mary was the mommy.  (Shouldn't Mary be the baby?)  We diligently recounted the story throughout the month of December.  (His favorite part was when the innkeeper said, "No room!")  But we weren't entirely successful in our efforts.  In fact, after we had shown him our Luke II video a couple of times, he started requesting to watch "the show about when Mary was born."  Apparently, all of our hard work had resulted in his believing that his baby sister was born in a barn.

I just didn't have the energy to introduce Santa Claus too.  So last year we had a Santa-free Christmas.  It was nice.  We visited the live nativity at The Greene, and skipped Santa's cabin.  We talked about shepherds and wise men instead of elves and reindeer.  Sure, our stockings were filled on Christmas morning.  But David didn't require any sort of explanation on how that came to be.  I liked our Santa-free Christmas.  But I rightly suspected it would be our only one.  

Ever since David's speech therapist started talking about Santa last summer (yes, last summer--apparently there are no other words that start with "s") and Dora visited the North Pole, Jolly Old Saint Nick has been a force to be reckoned with in this house.  My first reaction?  Ack!  How can I lie?!  How can I say with a straight face to my sweet, trusting child that a big fat man in a red suit lives at the North Pole with flying reindeer and small pointy-eared people and desires nothing more than to climb down our chimney on Christmas Eve to deliver a load of toys and goodies?  And then two minutes later, not lie, and tell him that God once was a tiny baby, who was born surrounded by a bunch of farm animals while angels sang in the sky to some sheep and their shepherds?  I was uneasy about the two Christmas narratives, one not real and one real, both being given credence in our home.  I considered giving Santa the boot.

Fortunately for Santa, he has two things going for him.  The first is that when we lived in Turkey, we discovered that the Saint Nicholas (from whom Santa Claus metamorphosed) was the bishop of Myra, which is part of modern-day Turkey.  I developed some interest in this native of Turkey, and I discovered that he's a pretty neat guy, someone worth remembering.  That softened my heart a little towards our modern Santa.  (I have dreams of one day teaching our children about Saint Nicholas, but David and Mary aren't quite ready for a nuanced discussion of how today's hyper-commercialized Santa was once a nice Christian bishop who saved some sisters from being sold into prostitution by their loving father.)  

The other good thing for Santa is that I am lazy.  Santa Claus is an enormous, unstoppable cultural avalanche.  I might possibly be able to save my own home from being swept up in this avalanche, but that would be way too much work.   It's much easier for my languorous self just to go along with the Santa thing.  Besides, I prefer to use what energy I have to protect my children from, say, pornography, bigotry, and television commercials.  And, really, I don't want my kids going to school making some smart ass announcement on the playground that "Santa Claus isn't real!"  I'd much prefer that their smart ass announcements be more along the lines of "There are too Mormon Democrats!" or "Girls don't have to be the slim, shiny, empty packages that society dictates they be!"  With all that is wrong with the world, Santa doesn't seem worth the fight.  So he gets a pass.  Santa Claus is thus welcome in our home (albeit half-heartedly).

With all this on my mind last week, Greg took David to a work Christmas party (while Mary and I stayed home sick).  I know just how David is, so I could picture it all perfectly in my mind when Greg recounted what happened:  When Santa Claus entered the room, David's eyes grew wide, his jaw dropped open, and a look of pure joy and wonderment passed over his face.  He clenched his fists tight with excitement and shouted, "Santa! Santa!"  He ran to Santa, with his arms wide open, and gave him a huge hug, as if they'd always been the best of friends.  He happily sat on his lap, chatting away about all the things he wants for Christmas.  He came home floating on a cloud of happiness.  Why would I want to tell him that he hadn't talked to Santa?  That instead he just sat on the knee of a guy named Joey who, while really nice, doesn't give a hoot about what any kid wants for Christmas?  That's when I realized that Santa Claus is fun.  

It's fun to pretend that Santa is real, to join in an elaborate, imaginary game with my son.  If David wants to believe (and he clearly does right now), then I will play along.  I think young children have a capacity for safely weaving fantasy in and out of reality in a way our dull adult brains no longer fathom.  After all, my reservations about Santa come from an overly analytical adult mind.  While I could probably do without Santa (and would never lie point-blank in response to a direct inquiry as to his reality), there is so much fun and excitement in this cultural tradition.  I don't want to miss out on sharing in that fun with my kids.  (Besides, once David learns that Santa isn't real, I suspect that, despite my worries, he will not feel massively betrayed--he will be too busy feeling like an oh-so-mature big-shot, joining in the conspiracy for the fun of his younger sibling(s).)    

And as for Jesus and the real reason for Christmas?  That will always be (I hope) the center of our Christmas celebrations and traditions.  (I think David has finally figured out the difference between Mary the Mother of God and Mary the Baby Sister.)  And I have to give my children a little credit.  I do believe that they were born with the light of Christ within, that they have an inherent ability, deep within, to recognize truth.  So I have to believe that, even now, at some level, David can distinguish the silliness of Santa from the seriousness of the Savior.  Besides, I have to hope that three hours of church every Sunday, weekly family home evening, nightly scripture reading, and daily family prayer all year long will have some positive effect, right?

So this Christmas Eve, Santa Claus will visit our house.  We even have a chimney.  Then when David doesn't get what he asked for (an army tank), I will happily blame the fat guy.  And maybe that's why I really like Santa...

Happy 12 days of Christmas

The countdown begins!  

A couple of years ago, I was looking for a way to focus on the Savior during the December hubbub before Christmas.   So I took a few minutes to make this, and, little did I know it, but a tradition was born:

Creativity and materials (we were living in Turkey) were both in short supply, but I managed to find some ribbon at our pathetic BX, as well as scrounge up a few scraps of red card stock at home.  It was for a one-time-only use, but here it is again, for a third round.

On each of twelve cards is written the scripture reference for a prophecy of Christ.  Most of them are from Isaiah and the Book of Mormon.  For thousands of years, prophets foretold the coming of the Savior with great anticipation.  And in the days leading up to Christmas, as our own anticipation grows, we read some of those prophecies.  Each evening, we remove the bottom card and gather around the table.  We light our German candelabrum (see item D), watch the figures spin, and, by the candlelight, read the verses and sing a Christmas hymn or two.  

We begin each year with this appropriate verse.  Since we read for twelve days prophecies about the Savior, how fitting to begin with the prophet Nephi's explanation of what it is that the prophets of God have done throughout time:

And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.

2 Nephi 25:26

May I follow their example with much talking of Christ and rejoicing in Him: 

So my children will know.