Christmas, Oh Christmas. A blur of expectation, getting ready for this event and that one, enjoying this event and that one, creating meaning, living tradition. It's exhausting but I love the magical moments that happen, especially those that you least expect. Like tearing up in the American Girl store, knowing how happy Santa's gift is going to make one and yet feeling so melancholy in the knowledge that the other is way past such childish things as dollies with matching shoes and hats. Only six Christmases have come and gone, and yet Big Stuff is already "too old" for some of the "wow" toys! How did that happen?? More melancholy comes over me in the clothing store, when I realize that I can't really buy them matching dresses this year on account of the embroidered peter pan collar and soft brown velvet jumper with the pearl buttons that I'm getting for Small Fry will just be too little girly for my big girl. Who by the way, insisted on wearing a stained Silverbacks soccer T-shirt with camo gauchos on pajama day today because she was too "embarrassed" to wear her cute baby blue bunny Christmas pj's on the bus. And you're not embarrassed to wear that get-up, I kept wanting to blurt out. But I didn't. Because it's starting to be important not to be embarrassed on the bus. And I remember how that felt. Although I was probably in the 6th grade before I knew from embarrassment, but still. I remember. But here's something she's not too old for. Not yet anyway. Santa. Reindeer. The tooth fairy. Kitchen fairies. Wary and watchful (and beloved, don't you know) elves who bring messages to Santa every night. Thank goodness we still have some magic alive and well in this home. But for how long? Is it strange that sometimes I want to whisk my brood away and go live in Walnut Grove, in a little log cabin? On Christmas Eve I could tuck my girls, in bedcaps and braids, into their rope beds in the loft while a merry fire crackles outside my and Pa's bedroom door. Someplace far away from Hannah Montanas and Wiis and Playstations and Spongebob Scarepants? And they would be thrilled with candy canes and oranges in their stockings and those incredibly special rag dolls I made from quiliting scraps? Is that so wrong?? Obviously, I would never survive the bone cracking hard work it took to live On The Prairie but it's a nice thought anyway. And I shall savor these magical times, even if they insist on sliding through my fingers like running creek water.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Mmmmmmmagic
Christmas, Oh Christmas. A blur of expectation, getting ready for this event and that one, enjoying this event and that one, creating meaning, living tradition. It's exhausting but I love the magical moments that happen, especially those that you least expect. Like tearing up in the American Girl store, knowing how happy Santa's gift is going to make one and yet feeling so melancholy in the knowledge that the other is way past such childish things as dollies with matching shoes and hats. Only six Christmases have come and gone, and yet Big Stuff is already "too old" for some of the "wow" toys! How did that happen?? More melancholy comes over me in the clothing store, when I realize that I can't really buy them matching dresses this year on account of the embroidered peter pan collar and soft brown velvet jumper with the pearl buttons that I'm getting for Small Fry will just be too little girly for my big girl. Who by the way, insisted on wearing a stained Silverbacks soccer T-shirt with camo gauchos on pajama day today because she was too "embarrassed" to wear her cute baby blue bunny Christmas pj's on the bus. And you're not embarrassed to wear that get-up, I kept wanting to blurt out. But I didn't. Because it's starting to be important not to be embarrassed on the bus. And I remember how that felt. Although I was probably in the 6th grade before I knew from embarrassment, but still. I remember. But here's something she's not too old for. Not yet anyway. Santa. Reindeer. The tooth fairy. Kitchen fairies. Wary and watchful (and beloved, don't you know) elves who bring messages to Santa every night. Thank goodness we still have some magic alive and well in this home. But for how long? Is it strange that sometimes I want to whisk my brood away and go live in Walnut Grove, in a little log cabin? On Christmas Eve I could tuck my girls, in bedcaps and braids, into their rope beds in the loft while a merry fire crackles outside my and Pa's bedroom door. Someplace far away from Hannah Montanas and Wiis and Playstations and Spongebob Scarepants? And they would be thrilled with candy canes and oranges in their stockings and those incredibly special rag dolls I made from quiliting scraps? Is that so wrong?? Obviously, I would never survive the bone cracking hard work it took to live On The Prairie but it's a nice thought anyway. And I shall savor these magical times, even if they insist on sliding through my fingers like running creek water.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment