Christmas Music

I've been avoiding Christmas music this year. And while I know people who avoid this genre every year, normally I love it. It wasn't a conscious decision. In fact, just last week it dawned on me that I was listening to an incredible amount of news and traffic reports to avoid music while driving. I broke out a couple of CD's: John Denver and the Muppets (it was my favorite when I was three, and I knew Tee would love it-she did.) and the CD of my college choir. I listened to them each once, and put them away.

I love Christmas, even the crazy commercialism. I love the decorating, and the baking, and the shopping. I love that for almost a whole month people focus on friends and family. And I love celebrating the birth of Christ. It's not Christmas I'm avoiding-that would be impossible with two little girls. But I have definitely been avoiding music, which for me is unusual.

Both my parents were very thoughtful and thorough in their preparations for Christmas. They participated fully in prayerfully preparing for the the birth of the Savior. In fact to them there was no separation between the sacred and secular celebrations of Christmas. We only had one because of the other, even if not everyone knew it. In fact my dad would even use the so-called secular parts of the Holiday to punctuate the sacred. The most obvious example was through music.

Anyone who knew my dad knew of his prolific music collection. It spanned all genres, from jazz to country, from classical to rock. He top forty music and obscure recordings by obscure artists. Even into the last month of his life, he was looking for something new, or old to add to his listening collection. And he did not scrimp on his Christmas collection. But he did have rules for listening. From the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, only secular Christmas music-about Santa, snow and such was played at our house. It built the festive feeling, putting everyone in the holiday spirit. But then Christmas morning, when we came downstairs, and it was still dark outside, there would be the tree, sparkling with white lights, and beautiful choral Christmas carols filling the air. He would continue listening to this music through the twelfth day of Christmas, and then it would be put away until next Christmas.

As an adult, I've never been quite as strict on the lines. In fact some of my best Christmas memories independent of my family, come from the Christmas Candlelight Concerts my choir sang in college. Those concerts, of all sacred music, had to be done before finals week, usually the second week of December. And so for me, I usually listen to all of it, all month. But something has been stopping me this year.

Finally Friday, as I was driving back from getting one last gift, I switched on the local Christian music station known for playing only Christmas music in December. As I drove up the hill towards my house, tears began to roll down my cheeks as what I'd really been avoiding all month finally hit me. By the third song, I was crying so hard I could hardly see. Thirty-one years of memories washed over me with each song. Twenty-nine of them, amazing. Two of them, the last two, a little bizarre, but hopeful. And in addition to the memories, all the dreams that are forever altered. All those visions of my girls baking cookies with their grandma, or their grandpa reading them the Christmas story are never going to happen. The collection of ornaments from their Grandma, that I thought they'd have when they turned eighteen will never be.

And I'm not mourning some ideal family that can never be. I had that family. I had two amazing parents. They were strict, but loving towards us when we were small. They knew when to let go, and give us our independence as adults. And they knew when we still needed them to be the parent. Losing one of them was hard enough, I really don't understand why they both had to die.

St. Nicolas Day and Family Traditions

Tomorrow is St. Nicolas Day. Being that my husband, and therefore my children are of Dutch heritage, we have often talked about how to incorporate Dutch traditions into our Christmas celebrations. With Tee being three and a half, this seemed like a good year to start.

Although my father-in-law was actually born in Holland, most of the information we have about this holiday comes from either my non-Dutch upbringing or a David Sedaris essay. So it is with these sources that we started to put together what will hopefully become cherished traditions our children will want to share with their children as well. Except...

Tee's best friend is named Nicolette. So she was having a hard time trying to figure out why she couldn't stay up if Nicolette was coming over to our house tonight. So for this year, we had to give up on St. Nicolas coming to our house, and went back to Santa Claus (I know, I know he's based on the real St. Nick.) He's just coming for a preview tonight. And since Santa Claus is coming later in the month, we had already planned to keep St. Nicolas day true to traditional Dutch custom, and have the girls leave their shoes out to be filled with candy. Tee really liked this idea, and chose to set her new party shoes, black patent leather mary jane's outside her door. Even Sweet Potato got excited about the idea, and went and grabbed one pink mary jane from her own closet to add to the collection. Seemed like we were ready to make some memories, except...

Tee remembered that candy makes things sticky, and started to freak out a little about her new black party shoes getting sticky when she hadn't even worn them and there are so many parties this month. So we compramised that Santa Claus would as part of his preview visit leave candy next to the shoes.

So while things didn't go off as perfectly as imagined, I now have cute stories to repeat to the girls about when they were little, and that is the beginning of a beautiful family tradition.

Shifting

I am an extrovert. Look up extrovert in the dictionary, and you will find my picture. Yes, I am that stereotypically extroverted. I get energy from being around other people, I think by speaking, and I will drive across the metro area in order to have the company of another person. I also know that I will get far more done if there is someone I can chit-chat with while I work, than if I am stuck in an isolated corner. And anyone, whether they have met me or not, knows exactly how I feel from across the room. This is how I operate, I know this about myself, and I'm fine with it.

But lately, I find myself acting very differently. I am withdrawing from activities. I find myself thinking long and hard before I speak, and then sometimes not responding at all. It's like I can't get outside myself. It isn't a selfish thing, because I want to respond, I want to be there for my friends, to let them know I am thinking about them and praying for them. I want to be able to step up to the plate, and take on new projects. But the idea of doing any of that, simply exhausts me. I find myself wanting to be alone. And that is something, I have never done.

I don't really know what this has to do with parenting, either what I do as a parent or what my parents did. But I'm sure it is the effect of their recent deaths, especially my mom's, as unexpected as that was. The events of the last three years, have left me completely drained, and what I have always done to regain my energy is no longer working. I'm not sure that alone time is really working either. So what do I do now?

Christmas Stories

It's really starting to sink in-just how weird and awful the holidays are going to be this year. On one hand, I've known that since July 8th. On the other, I feel like I have to make sure it's not. After all, I have a three-year-old and a one-year-old, and small children shouldn't know anything other than an amazing magical Christmas. I know that's what my mom believed. Over the years, she made every effort to make sure Christmas was special for everyone she encountered. Not just for her own children and grandchildren, but for all kinds of people. If she knew of anyone who would be alone or under financial duress at Christmas, she would find a way, anonymously if she could, to make sure that person had something special for Christmas.

I'll admit, it doesn't take much to bring me to tears. But tonight I saw a Hallmark commercial, that started me crying the hardest I had in at least a week. (If you haven't lost a parent or a child, that may not seem like long, but around here that feels like a record.) The ad featured two little girls listening to their Grandma read the night before Christmas, only Grandma wasn't there. She had recorded her voice into the book. If you know my mother at all, you would know she would have been the first in line to buy this, and send it off to her grandchildren so she could be a part of their nightly routine from four hours away. And it wouldn't have been the first time.

Like most people, we have chosen to find out the gender of our children before they are born. And with Tee, we even told people her name. Mostly because it was the only female name my husband and I agreed on. Knowing this my mom tucked into her shower gift, a small picture of herself, in a recordable frame, in which she had recorded the words, "I love you." So strong was her desire to be a part of her first grandchild's life, that even before she was born, my mom was looking for ways to bridge the distance.

We kept the frame on Tee's dresser for the first several months of her life, pushing the button to make it talk a couple of times a day. It was just a small gray, plastic square, so when Tee started to carry it around with her I didn't think twice about it. I had to put the picture back in several times. Now, I have no idea where it even is. I would give anything to have that now. I know the sound of my mom's voice, and I can hear it when I think of things I want to tell her, and I imagine how she would respond. But her voice will fade from Tee's memory. And Sweet Potato, I don't think she has any memories of her mammah.

Of course, that commercial was meant to bring up sentimental feelings, the kind that might bring a tear to even the happiest person's eye. But for me, it brought up such a feeling of emptiness, that the tears just poured down my face. And this was for something new, something I never would have imagined sharing with my girls even this afternoon, but they won't ever have their grandma (either grandma) read stories to them at Christmas time, in person or by recording. And I just don't understand why.

I know I can tell the girls stories about her and bake cookies using their mammah's recipes. I can put up pictures of Christmases past, and try to carry on the traditions of generousity and hospitality set by my mom. And that will make their Christmas amazing. But I really wish I could give them Christmas stories read by Mammah.

The fun part of parenting

So something about my mom's death has finally made me laugh. Which is appropriate in some ways, because my mom did have a quite the sense of humor. Although I don't know how funny she would find this in particular.

A little history. Tee was not exactly the easiest child to potty train. She did fine with number one, but it took us for-ever to get her trained with number two. It didn't seem to be an issue of will, so much as an issue of chemistry.

My daughter's diet consists of two food groups. Dairy and fruit. And about every two weeks, she will eat one chicken nugget. This is not for lack of trying, she is served the same food as the rest of the family, but what she eats is almost exclusively dairy or fruit. (This post may get a little graphic for those who do not interact with small children on a daily basis.) Anyway, while one of those food groups has a lot of fiber, the other is very binding, so if the balance of her diet is off, we have complications one direction or the other.

Sometime in the middle of August, almost a year after we started potty-training, the stars aligned and finally she was completely potty trained. A diet delicately balanced between dairy and fruit, supplemented by individual packets of marshmallows as a reward gave Tee the confidence she needed. And just in time because they won't take them at Tee's preschool if they are not fully potty-trained.

All was fine in that realm until I discovered that Tee had consumed too much dairy and not enough fruit last week. I spent my weekend monitoring my daughter's facial expressions and noises, picking her up and racing her to the bathroom, and then insisting that she wear pull-ups so that she could relax. I did not want to go back into potty training mode-I figure I have at least a year hiatus.

So when, Tee let one rip loudly Sunday morning, I of course had to ask, "Did you toot?"

"Not me," she responded. She and I were the only one's in the room.

So, I had to ask who, to which Tee replied, "It was Mammah!"

I can just imagine my poor mother blushing in heaven.

Changes

Last Monday, as we were driving to the gym, Tee was chatting away to no one in particular. It was some lively imaginative game she was playing, I wasn't included so I continued to listen to the radio. Suddenly, with great stress and anguish, Tee announced, "Mommy, I can't find my parents anywhere!"

"Parents?" I asked quite confused.

"Yes, parents?"

"You can't find your parents?"

"Yes."

"Your parents?"

"Yes. My parents."

"Tee," I asked, "Do you know what parents are?"

"What, Mommy?"

Yes, I was startled that she didn't know what the word "parent!" But one thing being a parent of small children has taught me is not to assume anything. I quickly explained that mommy and daddy were her parents. Conversation over, but as I said, I've learned not to assume anything.

"Do you have parents?" Tee asked.

"Yes, everyone has parents."

"Does Daddy have parents?"

"Grandpa George and Grandma Margaret are Daddy's parents."

"No, there is a different one."

In spite of all the deaths, my children have actually had very stable lives. Neither set of grandparents, nor any of their Aunts or Uncles has been through a divorce. And with the exception of my younger brother (who is barely 25), everyone is married with children. Grandpa George, however, has recently began dating a wonderful woman. She is also widowed, and both of them talk openly about the loss of their previous spouse, which I think is wonderful. She has been amazingly kind and supportive to us through the loss of my mother. And most importantly, she makes him happy. They plan on getting married this winter. I clarified that this is who Tee meant. It was, so I began my simple explanation.

"Well, sometimes when one parent dies, the one who is still alive finds another person who is still on earth to marry." So far so good, "So Grandpa George is going to have a new wife, and she'll be Daddy's step-mommy, and your step-grandma."

"We get a new Mammah?" Tee asked with great enthusiasm. She really does like this lady. And this is about my daughter, not me, so matching her enthusiasm, I affirmed her question.

And then the tears came, "But I miss my Mammah with the black hair."

Me too, Tee. Me too.

Time

I really miss my mom today, I don't know why. Just really, really sad. The saddest I've probably been in a long time, and I can't think of why it is hitting me so hard today. This wasn't a weekend we would have done much with my mom. We spent the afternoon celebrating the fourth birthday of one set of twin nieces (daughters of my husband's middle brother) and then stayed the night at his oldest brother's house. It was just a fun, relaxing weekend that had nothing to do with my mom. I guess on the way home, I normally would have called her to check in. But it has been long enough that I don't accidentally call her anymore.

In fact, it has been just over three months since she was killed. A detail that escaped my mind until I tried to figure out why I was missing her so much today. Three months is a quarter of a year. I can't believe it has been that long, and yet so much has happened. In three short months, one of her grandchildren (my nephew) was baptised and learned to crawl; one of them had a birthday, learned to crawl down stairs and walk, and started saying actual words; and one of them finished potty training and started school. That doesn't even count all the cute little things that have been said and done by these children. Or the messes and tantrums that occurred as well.

Several times a day, I think about how I wish my mom was here to share all of these moments, the big, the small, the funny, the cute, and even the horrible. And I also realize that while these little moments and little people seem to magnify the loss of my mom, if they were not here, I think I might truly sink into despair. And maybe that is why I am missing her so much, I don't usually get hours four hours of wide, awake quiet time to think about what has happened like I did today as we drove across the state with two sleeping children. Thank God I have those children, because otherwise I don't know what I would do with all that time.