Christmas: A bluntly honest consideration of the season

As a mom in 2015, it is difficult, if not impossible, to fully isolate oneself from the materialistic resonance that takes over the holiday season. We are bombarded with advertisements on television, on the radio, on  Facebook, that promise happiness, perfection, serenity and peace so long as we drain our bank accounts on items that likely will provide only momentary joy and satisfaction. Our kids receive the never-ending message that "if only you had ...(fill in the blank)" that they would be fulfilled, self-actualized individuals. And, if they don't find just that one (or two, or three) perfect thing under their Christmas tree or as their families light the menorah or kinara, their families are, in sum, "less than." Clearly, Elizabeth has received the message: you should see her extensive letter to Santa Claus, which includes a request for a "stuffed ostrich." I can't make this stuff up.

Unfortunately, these messages, both subtle and blatant, have made their way into my brain. I am not proud of this one bit.

Earlier this weekend, Glen and David and I sat down to watch the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol. It was a spectacular telling of Dickens' classic story. The actors, the adapted screenplay, the costumes and set were, in my estimation, spot-on perfect. And, of course, the message of A Christmas Carol could not be more clear: share your treasure; give to others; love one another; take care of each other; create for yourself a legacy of love rather than selfishness. In one scene, the Cratchet family gathers around their table giving thanks for the small feast that Mr. Cratchet's salary could afford. Mr. Cratchet gives a toast to his nasty boss, Ebenezer Scrooge, acknowledging that the paltry salary he earns from working with Scrooge enabled the family to enjoy Christmas together. Tiny Tim - the voice of wisdom for the ages - is joyful in spirit and heart, despite his infirmity. Just that one scene - in a MOVIE, for Pete's sake - spoke volumes to me.

Then, as I spent time wrapping presents for the kids yesterday, I was struck by a paradox: while I was extremely grateful that our family has the means by which to provide lovely treats for our children at Christmas, I could not help but wonder whether we're setting an impossible bar higher and higher each year. I wondered whether as a mom I'm enabling my kids lose sight of the real reasons for which we celebrate holidays at this time of the year: to be honestly and genuinely thankful for what we have; to be together as a family; to relish our health and our home. Wrapping these presents, I pondered whether we truly are ensuring our children's happiness, or are doing them a disservice, by giving them more and more.

I believe it is true that the happiest and most content people among us are those who truly - TRULY  - are grateful simply for what they have, and don't dwell on what they do not have. Sadly, I know I do the latter, and it's not something for which I am at all proud. Perhaps I can blame the media, peer pressure, family expectations, or God-knows-what else for downloading into my head the message that is looped over and over again: "if you JUST HAD (fill in the blank), YOU'D BE TRULY HAPPY." But it's a message that I've absorbed. It's a hard mantra from which to break free.

There's no need for me to go into detail about the things I covet, the things I think will provide happiness and real contentedness. But suffice it to say that Glen, my sainted husband, has heard all of it. ALL OF IT. And for him, it's truly not fair. Glen is the most balanced, grateful and self-actualized person I know. I hit the jackpot when I married him. When I grow up, I only hope I can have half of his common sense.

Don't get me wrong: I am humbled by and grateful for the bounty and blessings with which God has provided to me and my family. I treasure having a home in which to live, a bed in which to sleep, and a kitchen in which to feed my family. Glen and I have wonderful jobs. Our children attend an amazing school. We have many, many dear friends. Our families love us.

And yet, the materialistic messages stay in my head. It's awful. I'd like for them to go away, please. I mentioned Elizabeth's letter to Santa earlier. You know what David keeps saying he wants for Christmas? "I want everyone to have a nice Christmas," he tells me. David, my old soul, gets it.*

And, yet, in the spare moments that I can grab with the kids and Glen - to hug them, bury my face into their soft hair, feel their arms around me, plant kisses on their cheeks - I have a moment of repose from these messages. I find peace. I feel joy. And, briefly, I truly have enough.

A work in progress? Yep.


(*Okay. He did add that a new amplifier would be nice, too.)

And so it was this morning that David, my newly-minted 6th grader, was all set to embark upon his class's three-day retreat at Pali Institute.

He was worried that, with all of the excitement, he'd have difficulty falling asleep last night, but this was not the case. He conked out like a trooper, but awoke with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

Once I returned to the second floor of the house, after having fed the puppy and tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to pee and poo in a respectable area of the back yard, I found David dressed and ready to go. His sister, of course, needed a bit more encouragement to get up.

On cue, David crawled into bed with his little sister, and threw his arm around her. And for one split-second, I relished one of the sweetest moments I've seen in a long time. Elizabeth snuggled up to her brother, safe and protected by his presence, and they stayed there together for a few seconds.

And, just as quickly, the moment was over. Elizabeth got herself dressed (as did I), and we returned to the kitchen for breakfast.

Try as I might to recapture - on camera - the tender moment between these two cherubs, I was not successful. But here's a sample of their well-meaning attempt to look like well-behaved children:

And here is what they did for pretty much every other photo:

Double-Fisting

Do normal people double-fist Diet Coke and coffee first thing in the morning?

Probably not. But, then again, I am not normal people.

Our little family of four is now well into our fourth year of the long-distance commuter marriage arrangement upon which we embarked back in November 2010. I will be the first to gladly report that, with each day that passes, it gets easier to manage a household when flying solo and without the man-on-man defense that naturally comes with two-parent households. David and Elizabeth are (sob!) getting older and are much more self-sufficient. Once they are awake, they are self-starters in the morning. Sometimes, they even remember to make their beds.

I know grown adults who do not function with as much decorum and independence as these two kids do.

But, still, the morning routine is ... tiring. Both kids have inherited my penchant for hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock and/or attempting to negotiate (in a groggy stupor), for "five more minutes." Someone has to feed the dogs. And the cats, for that matter. Someone has to make certain that the alarm system is disarmed before we release the hounds into the backyard so that they can do their business. Oh, yes, and there is also the matter of getting dressed (which, I can report, the kids also do quite well on their own ... as do I).

Once I get to the office at Foothill Country Day School, I've usually sucked down about 50% of what I refer to as "Diet Coke #1" of the day. I set the offending beverage on my desk, grab a mug, and march directly to the Keurig coffee maker in the staff lounge for "Coffee #1 of the day." I return to my desk and begin the ritual of "double-fisting." This ritual continues for the better part of the morning.

Amazingly enough, this does not throw my pulse rate into tachycardia. Well, not always.

People often say to me, "I just don't know how you do it," usually referring to my single parenting obligations that I maintain throughout the work week. Usually, my response includes any or all of the following disclaimers:

1) I have two great kids, who make my job extraordinarily easy.
2) I am fueled by Diet Coke and coffee.
3) Said ingestion of caffeine does not, in any way, shape or form, impact my ability to nap at a moment's notice, which I also do whenever the opportunity presents itself.

And there you have it. My own hack. The trick up my sleeve for morning functionality.

Let's not, however, go into my life-long love affair with McDonalds. That's a blog post for another time.