Advent

I feel a bit proud of our advent tradition.  Well, we've (not quite) done it all of two years.  Beginning on December 1st, we alternate between "giving" and "getting."  Some of the "gives" included: 

• write a gratitude letter to someone you admire
• make peanut butter pine cones for the birds
• make bread for the local homeless shelter
• deliver neighbor gifts
• send presents to cousins
• draw pictures and deliver them to the senior center nearby
• give a gift to Melody the children's librarian during storytime
• make something for your teachers
• make something for your friends
• make end-of-the year donations

The "gets" were things like pencils, candy-cane pipe cleaners, a holiday book, gum, and mints.

The humble part of it all, however, is that I couldn't really pull it off.  I thought that we'd stretch them out and then on Christmas Eve, we'd just make sure we'd covered everything.  But, that didn't happen either.  

So, the kids will either remember the goal of giving, or quite honestly, until they're 25, they'll probably just carry an overall disorganized impression of their mother.  

Right now, I'm ok with good intentions. 

 

Christmas Tree

For the second year in a row, we cut a tree down for Christmas as part of a tree-thinning fundraiser.  This year was memorable as the last, but in very different ways.   With an absence of snow, the highlight was playing around a pond, throwing ice and retrieving branches.  We did make it back with a tree - plus a sense of connection to its home, and a feeling of warmth in ours.

Holiday Parade

I don't think we have ever missed our town's holiday parade.  It sets the tone for the season.  

This year, it seemed especially colorful, reflective of this place that's our home.  The entrants included: 

• lit up, joyful bikers,  
• belly dancers,
• a free-flowing high school band, 
• a uniform, regimented high school band,
• fire blowers (how did that pass the code?!),
• recycling trucks,
• port-a-potties,
• the town librarian, passing out books,
• an electric bus,
• a turn of the century fire truck,
• Dogs, dogs and more dogs,
• the crazy, puppet man,
• the chinese dragon,
• the county fair queen,
• Mr. and Mrs. Santa

My younger kids stood mesmerized.  My oldest wanted to throw a football with his dad on the sidewalk.  Frozen fingers, tantrums, and pre-teen distraction notwithstanding, I am holding onto this tradition. 

Ritual: The Mail Run

In our old house, our mailbox hung right next to the front door.  With our move last summer, we gained the ritual of strolling down a driveway to retrieve our mail.  Short as the walk is, it has become an event.  We walk.  We stroll.  We scooter.  We bike.  Sometimes it's a chore.  Sometimes more.  But, I welcome adding this to our list of rituals.

As I consider our many rituals, I must acknowledge that they are superimposed on a what could easily be considered quite a chaotic foundation.  We are always working towards a state of order and accomplishment, but we certainly never get there.  Does anyone really?  But, in large part, that is why I reach for these rituals, pick them up out of obscurity.  Their light makes sense of the chaos and keeps us, or certainly me, afloat.

First Snow

In the midst of unseasonably dry and warm weather, I am thinking longingly back to our first snow of the season.  Remembering the snowman and snow angels here is my blog form of a rain dance.

10 Minutes of Beautiful

John and I went for a hike today.  It is the activity that comes to my mind when I really want to be with him.  On a trail, I know that I will feel nourished and full and able to appreciate him without daily-life distractions.

We escaped to the ever-dependable beauty of Chautauqua and trekked across the low-lying trails for... about 10 minutes.  At that point, he was ready to head home to his trains.

Mind you, I took pictures that will capture those ten minutes for eternity.  (Hint: my blog so easily blurs  the time : impression ratio.)  But even just today, those 10 minutes defined my entire feeling about the day.  The experience of being in such a beautiful spot, moving in the fresh air, and watching my 3-year-old run against such a backdrop - it is like a work of art.  In the same way that just looking at a certain painting for a moment or reading a particular poem can change a person, being in that beautiful scene even for 10 minutes can change everything for me, too.

I do feel fortunate to live so close to such natural beauty.  Maybe we all do, in one way or another.  However, I do remember days living in Washington D.C., driving hours to get to the Blue Ridge Parkway for a day hike.  Carbon footprint aside, that trek was always worth it.

I am not sure that John will grow up to be a big hiker, or to have a deep love of nature, but hopefully our 10 minute hikes give that passion a chance.

Halloween - Best and Worst List

Halloween is always the toss-up holiday for us.  It can go either way - success or disaster.  Actually, it's usually both.  I'm a little slow pulling it together, but as a reference for next year, here is what went well, and what didn't:

Best of Halloween List:

• shaving cream pumpkins
• subsequent shaving cream fight
• trip to pumpkin farm with cousin
• equal opportunity pumpkin carving - everyone designs a body-part
• imagining costumes - a dog, a mirror, a tree, and whatever free association struck #4 in that moment
• making costumes (note:  not always on the "best" list)
• John's "bat-dragons" (basically a piece of black felt)
• a visiting cousin-aunt
• dinner with friends

Worst of Halloween List:

• a lost knight's helmet, resulting in a 45-minute scream delay before evening activities began
• stressed trick-or-treaters
• one said stressed trick-or-treater's distant cry from a pile of picturesque kids, gathered with open bags at a candlelit doorway:  "These people are so annoying!!!"
• missing old neighbors, as expressed by said stressed trick-or-treater: "But, nobody knows us!"
• repeated tripping over costumes
• smelling a freshly-eaten snickers bar on my 6-year-old's breath when she climbs into my bed the next morning.

Halloween's Eve

The night before Halloween, I really wasn't thinking.  Will scheduled a class, a "Tasting Session."  Before I knew it, he had his siblings, one by one, behind closed doors.

Classes are not new to Will.  Periodically, a sign-up sheet will appear on a refrigerator or bulletin board, with attention-grabbers like:  "Learn to speak Natonian" or "Experience the Symphony of Smells."

When it came my turn for the "Halloween Tasting Session," I wore the designated blind-fold, and began.  The first taste was familiar:  a vanilla wafer.  The second was most certainly a hit: a handful of chocolate chips.  The third was a peanut butter cup, and the fourth was his own chocolate creation.  (Recipe:  melt chocolate chips, pour them into a homemade foil mold, add lots of turbino sugar.)

I walked out and immediately understood why John was bouncing off the walls, well past his bedtime, on a chocolate high the night before Halloween.  Not ideal planning.

Will charted our results.  Jeff and I were congratulated on our perfect scores.  (A planned distraction from the massive chocolate consumption?)

So everyone wins: Will is the hero, his siblings got sugar infusions, and his parents let it all go, graciously drowning in praise.