It’s the dead, dark middle of the night. I lay here wide awake in eager anticipation of the morning. The house is slumbering, the only sounds are the ticking of the clocks and the occasional roar of the heater coming on. Visions of sugar plums, I imagine, are floating. J-Dub just went to bed a little while ago after staying up doing what dads do on Christmas Eve: screwing screws and fumbling through instructions entitled “some assembly required” when what that really means is, “assemble these million parts of nonsense with as few cuss words as possible”. After all, it is Christmas and there’s no cussin’ on Christmas. That’s probably a written rule somewhere.
Christmas present is different to me from Christmas pasts. I now anticipate the morning, not to receive, but to see that little face light up with the giving. The wonder. The magic. The joy of it all through the eyes of child.
I snuck out of bed and tiptoed into the dark to see what EK will see when she stumbles in bleary-eyed in the morning. There is a massive dollhouse; one that I never imagined would be that big. (I’ve got to get better at reading the fine print). And somewhere is the Beauty and the Beast movie, her own personal request to Santa Claus himself when she hesitantly sat upon his knee and whispered her desire.
Here’s a little before/after. The kids these days call this a Transformation Tuesday I believe, but I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going, much less what day it is for all that.
Last year’s Santa pic to this year. She actually sat on his lap this year, but still wearing the same look of uncertainty on her face.
Oh it’s fun really, isn’t it? I need to remind myself of that often. Having a little family of my own. Creating and making our own traditions and memories. I don’t want Christmas to be an elaborate affair. A few gifts, with the emphasis on the true meaning. This year, I followed this little mantra of gift giving: something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read.
We began a Jesse tree for advent, working through the Bible stories leading to the coming of Jesus on that holy night. I was sewing the ornaments with a little felt and embroidery thread. We were gathering around a little tree in EK’s room reading the stores each night, but as in typical fashion, that kind of fizzled out. I think I made it through the burning bush. There’s always next year, right?
I’ve got promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.
We went and enjoyed the second annual cutting of the tree this year. I walked the forest along with my family trying to find the “perfect” Christmas tree. During the inspection of each tree, I composed a whole blog post in my mind about how “choosing a Christmas tree is like choosing a spouse” but as in typical fashion, I never got that posted. But it’s a no-brainer. You get it. There is no perfect tree, just as there is no perfect mate. But the moral of the story is: pick one you can live with. Learn to love their quirks and eventually they’ll die.
Um, maybe that’s not the best moral, but it’s the truth.
Have a merry Christmas!!