Christmas Scenes
I want to soak in these holiday moments. Family, good food, warm sweaters, sleeping in. Every year it comes and goes and I find that my level of enjoyment is pretty much equal to my engagement. It’s possible, and let’s be honest, easy to wander through these days in a half haze. You wouldn’t be faulted for wanting rest. Contrary to what most children say, parents work really hard. The simultaneous jobs of earning a wage and growing your offspring take a toll. So why not nap all day? Because of the following kinds of moments…
My daughter and her cousins are piled high, like a pyramid. Under the weight of many human children is an uncle. “Attack!” That’s what the kids say when this particular uncle shows up. The rest of us usually just watch. We don’t have much sympathy. He started this particular tradition years ago when they were small. Not enough foresight to see how this would play out when they were bigger.
Grandparents don’t stock coffee at the house, so each morning we do a coffee run. The order is for five different families, which can make for a long list. Some want crumbly croissants, others berry filled muffins. Chai teas, mochas, seasonal flavors - all the coffee please. The drive takes about 10 minutes, that’s how long you have to put your order in with the driver. I’m usually the driver. I like the morning shift.
Kids shuffle presents. The tree is lit with blue, red, green, orange, and yellow twinkling lights. Ornaments of snowmen, angels, and snowflakes dangle in between the branches. On the floor is a mountain of wrapped boxes. There are a lot of grandkids, making for an impressive stash. The kids eye the gifts every time they enter the room. In the morning I found a few digging through the pile, checking the names. I remember those joys from my own youth. How could I deprive the next generation from a few inquisitive peeks?
The sun is out, get the kids outside! Rain is in the forecast every day, so when the weatherman is wrong you have to take advantage. Whines. Excuses. Declarations of fatigue, boredom, and anything else to avoid changing locations. Until we get outside. They stand in the damp sand, warmed by a sun unencumbered by clouds. They spot long pieces of driftwood smoothed by the water's relentlessness. It’s time for an epic fort building session. Kids never trust you when you say it will be fun. Score one for the parents.
A walk along the beach. Waves glide in. Waves slide out. The sand changes color as it is filled, then depleted of water. Look closely, and you see a million tiny living things. Shells litter the pathway. Microscopic fish, bugs, and crabs scour the beach's edge. If you look out over the water, it’s a vast and open world devoid of much beyond the occasional bird that flies into frame. If you look down, there is more life than you can count. So much is happening at the border between beach and water.
Later in the evening the kids put on a play. Chairs get transported to a new section of the home. A large step is designated as the stage. Tickets are made and distributed. One parent tries to sit without a ticket. He is kindly escorted out of the theater - these kids mean business. The lights finally go down. Out come dancing Santas, singing children, and a grinch that keeps falling off the stage. This might be better than Broadway.
So I observe. I explore. I wrangle kids. I cook. I laugh. I relax. I’m getting everything I can out of this Christmas.
