It is typical for Glen, the kids and I to put up our Christmas decorations right after the tryptophan-induced coma that comes with the consumption of large quantities of turkey on Thanksgiving Day has worn off. And so it was the case on Friday that Glen retrieved all of our Christmas storage bins from the shelves in the garage, thus heralding another season of Advent for our family.
The kids were particularly eager to get the tree up this weekend. While Glen and I both wanted to wait until everyone was awake, alert, and in the holiday spirit - and not dive in to the project groggy at 8:00 on a Friday night, David and Elizabeth would have none of it. After much negotiation, David and Elizabeth won. Tree trimming was a GO!
And what a splendid tree we have this year! Because we'll be spending most of Christmas week up in the Bay area this year, we decided to decorate the 4-foot tall artificial tree that we've had for several years. This enables us to keep the tree lights on (on a timer, of course) while we're gone and with little risk of setting the house ablaze. David and Elizabeth were in their element. This year, they each took particular interest in the collection of ornaments that have been designated as their very own. Since the time they both arrived on this earth, Glen and I have collected numerous ornaments that are personalized, dated, and significant of any number of milestones in their lives so far. Of course, David has about twice as many ornaments as Elizabeth, but I assured her that she'd catch up in due time. Once the tree was up, Elizabeth insisted in leading us in a prayer to Santa Claus, which included requests for Barbie dolls.
In keeping with our holiday spirit, the kids and I saw the movie "Arthur Christmas" yesterday. What a fantastic movie it was! Well worth the price of admission, and then some. It was such a wonderful story about the true meaning and spirit of Santa Claus and Christmas, with the take-away message that every single child is important. Oh, we just loved it!
But I was not prepared for the philosophical discussion that was about to take place once we returned to the car after the movie was over.
"Mommy," David asked, "do you believe in Santa Claus?"
"Absolutely!" I replied, not adding, "and you're talking to her right now."
"Well," he continued, "some people don't believe in Santa Claus, but I do."
"Me, too!" chimed Elizabeth.
"Mommy?" David asked, "some people say that Santa Claus isn't real."
I didn't answer right away, and I was a bit taken aback by my momentary feeling of conflict. But, I dove back in, and said, "of course he exists. At least, I sure hope so."
"Well," David continued, "some kids say that there is no Santa and that their parents put presents under the tree and just put on the tag that it's from Santa but it's really from the parents. But you wouldn't do that, right?"
Well, yikes. There it was, staring me in the face: the dilemma of how to navigate the Kris Kringle issue. Running through my brain ever so briefly were the following arguments:
Option #1: Stick with the story. The kids are little; they still believe in the magic of Christmas; they still have beautiful imaginations that don't need to be jaded and squashed so early; they deserve to have the reassurance that Christmas is about miracles, magic, reindeer, Santa, and snow (well, the latter would be more applicable were we still in Chicago).
Option #2: Fess up. Lying is bad.
After a thoughtful, well-argued five-second debate took place deep within the confines of my brain, I went with ... Option #1.
Now, that is not to say that, come Christmas Eve, I will attempt to recreate the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof of our apartment in Newark. But David and Elizabeth will indeed have a present from Santa - not mommy and daddy, but SANTA - under the tree on December 25.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
God and David
On Sunday evening, Glen and the kids and I made good on our weekly tradition of driving to Ontario Airport. Indeed, it was to drop Glen off at Terminal 2 and see him off to his new work week.
Sunday evenings seem to be particularly difficult for David. Once we get home from the airport, and the kids are tucked into bed, there is something about the darkness and quiet of the evening that, to my little boy, starts to get a little spooky. More than once, David's Sunday evening tuck-in ends with him in tears, and me with little to no clue as to how to manage it.
Usually, on such evenings, David simply and understandably laments the fact that Daddy - his hero, his buddy, and his Lego partner - is up north once again. David often ponders our options. "I want to live where Daddy is," David will often say, "but I love Foothill!" More than once, David has said flatly, "I'm very conflicted."
And, so it was that on this past Sunday evening, David the Brave was bummed out. Within about five minutes of kissing him goodnight and heading to my desk in our home office to do a bit of work, I heard a little voice call out, "Mommy? Can I talk to you?"
I was a bit taken aback; David has never started a conversation with, "can I talk to you." I was at once flattered and a bit worried.
So, of course, I went right to his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. I stroked his hair, and said, "what's up, sweetie?"
He hesitated and stammered a bit, but then said, "I don't know if you'll believe me but ... but ..."
"Tell me what's up, Punkie. Tell me anything! Go for it, buddy!"
David continued, "something in my heart tells me that Daddy's in trouble."
Of course, by that time, MY heart was getting concerned. I took a quick glance at the clock in David's room, and mentally noted that Glen was probably boarding the plane at that time.
"Do you mean in trouble for being on the plane?" I asked.
"Uh huh," he said with a very shaky voice. "I just ... I just feel like something is wrong. I know that I just feel more bad right now because I really miss Daddy," David cried. "But my heart is beating so fast and I'm just worried that he's not safe."
And this is where the amazing part of our conversation started:
"And I know," David said, "that God is watching me and knows that I'm worried."
One word came to mind. WOW.
"Well," I said, trying to say something comforting, genuine, and respectful of David's real worry, "I know that God is watching over all of us! That's the great thing about Him"
And thus began a 20-minute discussion about God, Jesus, and how David might get to understand the lessons that they teach. I decided at that moment to multi-task, and so I pulled out the Cub Scout Wolf Handbook, and flipped to the section on "Duty to God" (or Achievement 11, for those of you in the know).
David and I talked about Faith - what it means to be faithful, what faith is, and who we know that shows a true spirit of faith in their actions. I believe the name of Santa Claus was dropped once or twice.
He studied the pages in the Handbook that showed all of the different emblems of the Scouts Religious Emblems program. He wanted to know what each and every one was. We came to the emblem for our faith, Christian (or, Episcopalian, to be more specific), which is a crest with a red cross on a white field,, with the words "God and Me" etched at the top.
"David," I asked, "would you be interested in doing the religious emblem program? It's entirely up to you."
"Yes!" he said quickly. "I really, really believe in God and Jesus!" (how much more sincere and innocent and wonderful could that be?)
So, I promised him that the next day I'd send an email to our priest at Church of the Ascension, to ask if the Church does the Boy Scout's God and Me program.
By the end of our chat, David had calmed down considerably. I stepped out briefly to check the status of Glen's flight at Southwest's website, and confirmed that they were boarding.
"David, I will keep an eye on the status of Daddy's flight, and I PROMISE to let you know when he's landed safely."
"Even if I'm asleep?" he asked. "You WILL wake me up, right?"
"Right." At that moment, too, I sent a brief mental prayer to the God of Airplanes and Flight Travel, requesting, in short that Glen be safe and secure on his flight, and reminded the God of Airplanes and Flight Travel that tonight would be a REALLY BAD night for Glen's plane to have any technical malfunctions. "Please, not tonight, of all nights," I quietly whispered.
By 10:30 p.m., Glen's flight had indeed safely touched the tarmac at Oakland International Airport. I tiptoed into David's room to announce the news.
"David ... David? Sweetie ...? Hello ...?" I said, shaking him gently by the shoulder. No dice. My little angel was fast asleep, finally calm, and dreaming contentedly. But, still, I whispered to him, "Daddy landed! He's safe and sound. All is well, sweetie."
I breathed another quick prayer to the Heavens, in which I simply said, "thank you!"
Sunday evenings seem to be particularly difficult for David. Once we get home from the airport, and the kids are tucked into bed, there is something about the darkness and quiet of the evening that, to my little boy, starts to get a little spooky. More than once, David's Sunday evening tuck-in ends with him in tears, and me with little to no clue as to how to manage it.
Usually, on such evenings, David simply and understandably laments the fact that Daddy - his hero, his buddy, and his Lego partner - is up north once again. David often ponders our options. "I want to live where Daddy is," David will often say, "but I love Foothill!" More than once, David has said flatly, "I'm very conflicted."
And, so it was that on this past Sunday evening, David the Brave was bummed out. Within about five minutes of kissing him goodnight and heading to my desk in our home office to do a bit of work, I heard a little voice call out, "Mommy? Can I talk to you?"
I was a bit taken aback; David has never started a conversation with, "can I talk to you." I was at once flattered and a bit worried.
So, of course, I went right to his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. I stroked his hair, and said, "what's up, sweetie?"
He hesitated and stammered a bit, but then said, "I don't know if you'll believe me but ... but ..."
"Tell me what's up, Punkie. Tell me anything! Go for it, buddy!"
David continued, "something in my heart tells me that Daddy's in trouble."
Of course, by that time, MY heart was getting concerned. I took a quick glance at the clock in David's room, and mentally noted that Glen was probably boarding the plane at that time.
"Do you mean in trouble for being on the plane?" I asked.
"Uh huh," he said with a very shaky voice. "I just ... I just feel like something is wrong. I know that I just feel more bad right now because I really miss Daddy," David cried. "But my heart is beating so fast and I'm just worried that he's not safe."
And this is where the amazing part of our conversation started:
"And I know," David said, "that God is watching me and knows that I'm worried."
One word came to mind. WOW.
"Well," I said, trying to say something comforting, genuine, and respectful of David's real worry, "I know that God is watching over all of us! That's the great thing about Him"
And thus began a 20-minute discussion about God, Jesus, and how David might get to understand the lessons that they teach. I decided at that moment to multi-task, and so I pulled out the Cub Scout Wolf Handbook, and flipped to the section on "Duty to God" (or Achievement 11, for those of you in the know).
David and I talked about Faith - what it means to be faithful, what faith is, and who we know that shows a true spirit of faith in their actions. I believe the name of Santa Claus was dropped once or twice.
He studied the pages in the Handbook that showed all of the different emblems of the Scouts Religious Emblems program. He wanted to know what each and every one was. We came to the emblem for our faith, Christian (or, Episcopalian, to be more specific), which is a crest with a red cross on a white field,, with the words "God and Me" etched at the top.
"David," I asked, "would you be interested in doing the religious emblem program? It's entirely up to you."
"Yes!" he said quickly. "I really, really believe in God and Jesus!" (how much more sincere and innocent and wonderful could that be?)
So, I promised him that the next day I'd send an email to our priest at Church of the Ascension, to ask if the Church does the Boy Scout's God and Me program.
By the end of our chat, David had calmed down considerably. I stepped out briefly to check the status of Glen's flight at Southwest's website, and confirmed that they were boarding.
"David, I will keep an eye on the status of Daddy's flight, and I PROMISE to let you know when he's landed safely."
"Even if I'm asleep?" he asked. "You WILL wake me up, right?"
"Right." At that moment, too, I sent a brief mental prayer to the God of Airplanes and Flight Travel, requesting, in short that Glen be safe and secure on his flight, and reminded the God of Airplanes and Flight Travel that tonight would be a REALLY BAD night for Glen's plane to have any technical malfunctions. "Please, not tonight, of all nights," I quietly whispered.
By 10:30 p.m., Glen's flight had indeed safely touched the tarmac at Oakland International Airport. I tiptoed into David's room to announce the news.
"David ... David? Sweetie ...? Hello ...?" I said, shaking him gently by the shoulder. No dice. My little angel was fast asleep, finally calm, and dreaming contentedly. But, still, I whispered to him, "Daddy landed! He's safe and sound. All is well, sweetie."
I breathed another quick prayer to the Heavens, in which I simply said, "thank you!"
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