Christmas Traditions: A Letter to my Kids

Dear Thomas and Marie,

It is almost Christmas, and although this season is a lot of work, I would not trade it for anything in the world.

I love our traditions.

One year I had to get Marie out of the house because the fumes from our freshly painted basement was too much. I cranked up the heat in the car and took you for a drive around the neighborhood in your jammies to look at lights. The tradition stuck, and we now listen to Christmas music in our jammies as we drive around and look at lights.

I look forward to baking cookies with you and decorating them with Nana and Papa. This tradition was handed down to you since I used to bake cookies with Nana.

December 2009. Look at those cheeks.

December 2011. This face!

I love how we always get dressed in Christmasy clothes and write letters to Santa at Macy's. This tradition was created because you were both too scared to sit on Santa's lap. We eat in the mall food court before finishing up Christmas shopping for daddy. 

December 2012: This is one of my most favorite photos of them in the
history of their photos. Which is a lot of photos.

Our new Christmas Eve tradition of putting on our new Christmas jammies, watching a Christmas movie while eating Christmas cookies and drinking hot chocolate is one of my favorites. It is cozy and relaxing and so different than any thing I ever experienced as a kid. I enjoy this maybe a pinch more than the highly coveted Christmas morning.

Christmas Eve 2012. Hot Chocolate through a straw.
And by hot, I really mean lukewarm chocolate milk.

I cherish these rituals that are perfect for our little family.

I try to memorize how your little bodies feel all snuggled up under the favorite brown, fleecy blanket while we watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

I record your giggles as you sneak the chocolate chips meant for the Hello, Dolly bars because you didn't think I heard you.

In my mind, I etch the excited look on your faces as you find each house with lights the most amazing house in the whole entire world.

I realize how fleeting this time is, and one day you may not want to wear Christmas jammies and drink hot chocolate with me. 

 And one day, if you decide to have a family of your own, we may not even be able to see each other on Christmas. This, of course, will be sad for me, but I want you to remember this: I will be fine.  I mean, you don't have to be jerks to me, but just know that I understand as life evolves, so do traditions.

Our traditions are based on being together because we love to be together. Not guilt. Not out of obligation.  Nothing sucks the joy out of Christmas than feeling stifled to keep a tradition that no longer fits.  I mean, how ridiculous would it be if we still were writing letters to Santa when you're 25, right?

Being a part of your lives will always be important to me, and because of that, I promise that I will not get hung up on the tradition that it becomes more important than the people who are celebrating.

Also, I am writing this as you are both only 4 and 7 years old, but I know how frustrating it can be to incorporate new and old traditions together.  Feel free to show me this because I know that I will want to buy you Christmas jammies (and calling them jammies) forever.

Love your favorite Christmas elf, 

Mommy

Thoughts on the Book Room and My Struggles with Being an Adult

I love to read.  Joining a book club has been one of the best things I have done for myself.  Often times, it pushes me to read books that I would never think to read.

Case in point, Room by Emma Donoaghue.  It’s not my usual type of book since reading about a traumatic kidnapping of a young woman who is forced to have a baby while living as a captive in a very small room gives me hives.  I gave it a whirl (because I’m a team player), but I ended up being totally entranced that the first-person narrative was a five-year old son of the kidnapped victim.

The Room is everything to this child.  He has no awareness of the outside world and thinks everything on TV is not real.  Since he only knows his mother (and has to hide at night when the abuser comes to see the young woman), he personifies the objects in his room.  When he and his mother escape, all he wants to do is go back to see Room.  The little boy has a tremendously difficult time adjusting to the outside world and mourns for the safety of Room, so his mother and a police officer take him back to Room.

When he returns, the little boy doesn’t recognize it.  It’s smaller than he remembered and nothing looked the same.  His perspective had changed once he experienced life outside of those four tiny walls.

Even though the context of this story is gut-wrenching, I thought his attachment to Room and his altered perspective were an achingly beautiful metaphor for growing up.  And strangely enough, I totally relate to this little boy.

I feel these past six months have been really weighing down on me: I’ve been doing some major work on shifting the way I view myself as I’ve been strengthening my personal boundaries.  Often times, I just want to quit and go back to the way things used to be.

Except they can’t.  Because I am different.  I have witnessed life outside of Room, and now everything has changed.  I’m no longer the same person who reacts to the madness around me.  I no longer think that I am self-indulgent if I’m making time to take care of myself.

But still, I struggle.  Part of being an adult is accepting situations for what they are, yet that does not mean accepting means that I have to participate in the same unhealthy way.  This is the hardest part for me.  My therapist says it’s the internal battle between my adult self knowing what to do to protect me, and the little girl part of me waiting for someone else to step in and take over.

And I would say that is true.

In what ways do you struggle with being an adult?  

On Being an Adult

When I was a kid, I thought someone in their twenties was an actual, real adult.

For me, I was far from being an adult in my early twenties.  I was a full-time student making little dollars at my pet crematorium/salon receptionist job.  I was a *tad* financially dependent on my parents.   I partook in some light partying. 

 I thought once I graduated, got a job, and moved out, I would be an Official Adult.  But something was missing, and I felt like a big kid with her own apartment and a job.

I thought for sure when I got married, I would instantly feel like an adult.  But I didn’t.

Becoming a parent had to be that magical moment when I would feel like a real adult, but I had Postpartum Depression with both kids.  And that just made me feel like a giant fake adult pretending to be a parent.

How could this be?  At the time, I was thirty-one years old, married with two kids and a mortgage?  Those are all very adult things, and I still felt like I wasn’t legit.

I think, for me, it has been a long, subtle process of evaluating my habits and general outlook on life.  I’ve had to ask a lot of questions: Why do I think this way?  Why do I react this way?  Is this my true reaction or something hanging on from other influences?     

It’s been through choosing my own path.

It’s about learning a new dance.

It’s been about honoring my instincts.

And knowing my inner voice is wiser than the part of me that craves validation and acceptance from others.

This becoming an adult thing?  It’s not easy.  I work on it Every. Damn. Day.

Some days are hard.  That pesky measuring stick of what I *should* be doing and how I *should* be doing it is hard to put away.  And other days I am clicking along, feeling good about my choices even though they might be different choices. 

Like I said, becoming my own person has not been easy for me.  But that feeling of freedom that comes being this evolved version of myself, that feeling of lightness – it’s all been worth it.

I am better to those around me when I am not comparing myself to others or trying to do things others may have done them.

I am me.

And that’s what being an adult means to me.

When did you feel like an adult?