Ten Things I'm Grateful For This Morning...
1.) Amelia brought me coffee in bed this morning. After doing her hair for the feis, I was able to get back into bed, read Facebook and PostSecret, and linger over the Today show. This is a lovely way to start a day.
2.) My registration has been confirmed for the Broadway Teachers' Workshop again this summer. I will turn 40 on Broadway with Mom and Auntie. We were suppposed to see Daniel Radcliffe in How to Succeed, but our performances are postponed because of publicity for the last Harry Potter movie...but I still might be able to see it on the first night I get there before it shuts down for the weekend. I'll also be seeing Spiderman if no one sustains some horrible injury between now and then.
3.) I had a nice at-home date with my husband last night, even though the take out food was kind of gross (Mamma Mia's - usually great) and the movie was depressing. (Love and Other Drugs...even a naked Anne Hathaway wasn't quite worth the price.) I love our ginormous TV and reclining couch.
4.) I had a delightfully relaxing afternoon yesterday hanging out in the Athenaeum. I got to read Patrick's book, listen to Accuradio Broadway, sort through some photos, and gather images for my new vision board, which I will make today.
5.) I started a new project in my classroom this week and it's going really well. It's been a while since I infused something really new into my teaching, and it is making me feel more connected and committed to my work. It's been a while since I've felt that way.
6.) While folding laundry in my bedroom yesterday morning, I put on the DVD of Anne of Green Gables, and started with my favorite scene, the one where Matthew buys Anne a dress with puffed sleeves. I love that film so much, and feel about this the way I feel about Harry Potter - that the books were a gift in my life, and the films, made with love by people who appreciate them and impeccable casting, were art inspiring art. (With the exception of the casting of the "new" Dumbledore, who I loathe. I just pretend it's Richard Harris still all the time. Or Bill Nighy, who I thought should have done it all along.)
7.) It has taken this whole entire week for the "done-ness" of the Busy Six to penetrate my soul. (The six Thayer months, from September to March.) Rather than just a Pajama Done Day rest-fest, it has sunk in slowly, one deep breath at a time. I love my work there, but I love when it's done and I have some head-space back.
8.) The spring is full of many fun family things this year. Abby has a piece featured in an art show and a solo in the 4th grade chorus concert. Amelia has a bunch of feissana and St. Patrick's day exhibition dances. We are watching American Idol all together as a family this year. Patrick has made some changes in his life and even in just this week, our family is taking on a different energy. I'm really happy about it.
9.) I read a fabulous book for middle school kids this week called The Misfits by James Howe. (Yes, of Bunnicula fame.) It was funny, poignant, and so well crafted, and helped me know better the kind of book I want to write. My first book will be for middle school kids. I finally know that.
10.) Getting back into blogging and journaling has invigorated me this week, as I knew it would. I hope that this energy will be a launch toward some of my other goals as well.
Life is full of blessings, and I am very grateful.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Chemical Change
Last night, I spent the wee small hours of the morning journaling in the Athenaeum, a pretentious name for the very humble space that is my watermelon-slice-colored sanctuary, but a name that has stuck all the same. I wrote a lot about theater, and worked through some things. Some of might make it into a blog entry, but one discovery really struck me.
In a life already very full of theater, I’m actually IN a show right now. It struck a lot of people as insanity that I would take this on in addition to everything else, but I am very grateful that I have for three important reasons.
First, there are four people at this theater that I adore, and being in their presence lifts me up, inspires me, and makes me want to work harder to be worthy of their affection. There are certain friendships that are nearly impossible to retain with very hard-working people, unless you actually become a part of their work. I know this better than anyone, and I’ve been very glad to be able to reconnect.
Two, because I have learned once and for all that there are certain things in life that I cannot do. I tell my students all the time that we are all smart in different ways, and I educate them on the multiple intelligences and sing the praises of every different kind of learner. I cannot dance. My feet do not do what I tell them to do, ever. In the midst of this intricate, carefully constructed dance routine, I know that a maxi ford is coming…16 counts from now, I will have to shuffle-hop-step-something or other, and every single time, while I tell my feet “Shuffle, goddamnyou!” they ignore my directive. Probably because I’m simultaneously thinking, “Right arm up, and make sure you step left before the Charleston...or is it step right?” I am not wired to do all of these things at once. It makes me feel so frustrated and embarrassed, and like I’m letting down all of these people who are working so much harder than me to successfully do things that are so much easier for them than they are for me.
When I teach Buddhism to my 6th graders, I tell them a story about this ant who has to carry a stalk of grass. For me, myself to carry a stalk of grass is no big deal. But for an ant to carry a stalk of grass ten times his size makes him the greatest ant in all the world, because he has to overcome a great deal to be able to do it. (Not greater than other ants, mind you, but the greatest ant that he, himself, can be.) When my most exuberant and extroverted 6th grader makes his Greek mythology presentation successfully, I am proud of him. But when my most shy and insecure 6th grader makes his successfully, he is the greatest 6th grader in all the world for having made it through.
If I ever manage to make my arms and feet simultaneously go the way they are supposed to, I will feel like the greatest ant in all the world. If not…I will be grateful that I have the very next speech after the dance sequence and a really good excuse to plead with the directors to let me get the hell out of it before I utterly destroy the ending.
The third reason I am so glad I did this show is the most surprising to me…I have spent a lot of years feeling like theater has become nothing but a job to me. That I have lost all sense of inspiration and passion about it, because it is now all about having to be in charge rather than just creating theater for the joy of it. If I could only be in something, I thought, I would find my way back to that place of elation at just being a part of it all, the third second-soprano from the left, finding that funky b-flat note in the chord and feeling it ring with all of the voices around me.
That has not turned out to be the case. There is very little group singing in this show, which has been disappointing, because that’s my favorite part. And while I enjoy everyone in the cast save one irritating person, I do not feel incredibly connected and part of this tight community. I have the four people I am happy to see, and that’s pretty much it. The show is going to be amazing, and the two leads are a thrill to watch, and I’m proud to be a part of it, but what I have learned is that I don’t need this to make the other theater I do worthwhile. It is no longer about being “up there.” So while someday down the road there might a role that I would love to play or I’ll get a chance to jump in and be an understudy, or there will be a score that I would love to sing with a chorus, I have found that really…this part of my life has undergone a chemical change. I’m not that sixteen year old singing “Cockeyed Optimist” seven thousand times in my bedroom – happily – to prepare for an audition that’s four months away. I’m someone else now.
I am so grateful that I have done this, and will enjoy every moment of the process, knowing that is likely to be a certain kind of ending. I will try to master that effing maxi ford and step-hop-shuffle-toe, and smile big in the umbrella finale and drink tequila shots at the cast party, and then I will get back to the business of directing yet another production of Annie, with a thirteen-year-old in the title role who may or may not, somewhere down the line, make theater a part of her future. At the very least, she’ll have one of the best weekends of her life and make her mother proud.
That’s what theater has become for me now. And I’m okay with that.
In a life already very full of theater, I’m actually IN a show right now. It struck a lot of people as insanity that I would take this on in addition to everything else, but I am very grateful that I have for three important reasons.
First, there are four people at this theater that I adore, and being in their presence lifts me up, inspires me, and makes me want to work harder to be worthy of their affection. There are certain friendships that are nearly impossible to retain with very hard-working people, unless you actually become a part of their work. I know this better than anyone, and I’ve been very glad to be able to reconnect.
Two, because I have learned once and for all that there are certain things in life that I cannot do. I tell my students all the time that we are all smart in different ways, and I educate them on the multiple intelligences and sing the praises of every different kind of learner. I cannot dance. My feet do not do what I tell them to do, ever. In the midst of this intricate, carefully constructed dance routine, I know that a maxi ford is coming…16 counts from now, I will have to shuffle-hop-step-something or other, and every single time, while I tell my feet “Shuffle, goddamnyou!” they ignore my directive. Probably because I’m simultaneously thinking, “Right arm up, and make sure you step left before the Charleston...or is it step right?” I am not wired to do all of these things at once. It makes me feel so frustrated and embarrassed, and like I’m letting down all of these people who are working so much harder than me to successfully do things that are so much easier for them than they are for me.
When I teach Buddhism to my 6th graders, I tell them a story about this ant who has to carry a stalk of grass. For me, myself to carry a stalk of grass is no big deal. But for an ant to carry a stalk of grass ten times his size makes him the greatest ant in all the world, because he has to overcome a great deal to be able to do it. (Not greater than other ants, mind you, but the greatest ant that he, himself, can be.) When my most exuberant and extroverted 6th grader makes his Greek mythology presentation successfully, I am proud of him. But when my most shy and insecure 6th grader makes his successfully, he is the greatest 6th grader in all the world for having made it through.
If I ever manage to make my arms and feet simultaneously go the way they are supposed to, I will feel like the greatest ant in all the world. If not…I will be grateful that I have the very next speech after the dance sequence and a really good excuse to plead with the directors to let me get the hell out of it before I utterly destroy the ending.
The third reason I am so glad I did this show is the most surprising to me…I have spent a lot of years feeling like theater has become nothing but a job to me. That I have lost all sense of inspiration and passion about it, because it is now all about having to be in charge rather than just creating theater for the joy of it. If I could only be in something, I thought, I would find my way back to that place of elation at just being a part of it all, the third second-soprano from the left, finding that funky b-flat note in the chord and feeling it ring with all of the voices around me.
That has not turned out to be the case. There is very little group singing in this show, which has been disappointing, because that’s my favorite part. And while I enjoy everyone in the cast save one irritating person, I do not feel incredibly connected and part of this tight community. I have the four people I am happy to see, and that’s pretty much it. The show is going to be amazing, and the two leads are a thrill to watch, and I’m proud to be a part of it, but what I have learned is that I don’t need this to make the other theater I do worthwhile. It is no longer about being “up there.” So while someday down the road there might a role that I would love to play or I’ll get a chance to jump in and be an understudy, or there will be a score that I would love to sing with a chorus, I have found that really…this part of my life has undergone a chemical change. I’m not that sixteen year old singing “Cockeyed Optimist” seven thousand times in my bedroom – happily – to prepare for an audition that’s four months away. I’m someone else now.
I am so grateful that I have done this, and will enjoy every moment of the process, knowing that is likely to be a certain kind of ending. I will try to master that effing maxi ford and step-hop-shuffle-toe, and smile big in the umbrella finale and drink tequila shots at the cast party, and then I will get back to the business of directing yet another production of Annie, with a thirteen-year-old in the title role who may or may not, somewhere down the line, make theater a part of her future. At the very least, she’ll have one of the best weekends of her life and make her mother proud.
That’s what theater has become for me now. And I’m okay with that.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Fall in Love Three Times Today
My classroom has been tossing little reminders at me in the past several days that it's time to get back to writing. The first came during a workshop yesterday designed to help me be a better writing teacher, maybe the 6th in a long series this year. They are geared toward creating a whole writing environment, which I have done to some extent. I'm trying to ride that inspiration into doing some writing of my own, which I have just begun. Anyway, during the workshop, I was perusing the presenter's books, and came across this quote about creativity taken from a letter from Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille...
"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action. And because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique and if it you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how "good" it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open."
This struck me hard, because like anyone who writes, I often battle the devil-on-my-shoulder, whose basic message is, "Who the hell do you think you ARE to yammer on about stuff and expect anyone to be remotely interested?" The song has different lyrics all the time, but the tune is the same. I also read, "A work of art uses the artist to get itself done; as I work, I am able to find out what it wants to be." I find this concept bolstering right now, though, to remind myself that it doesn't really matter, and whether or not anyone reads anything I write is not my decision to make, nor my matter to control. I just need to write it.
Although I do have one friend who threatened to throw himself into an electric fence if I didn't post soon. So, CTD, this one's for you...
I find that when I look at the world expectantly, looking for things to inspire me, the Universe never, ever lets me down. So I'm watching and waiting.
I also read today that a key to being a writer, and indeed a passionate creator of any kind, is to "fall in love three times a day." With a photograph, a perfect strawberry, a beautiful human, an expression of vulnerability from a 12-year-old-boy. Matthew Fox said, "If we fell in love with one of Mozart's work each week, we would have seven years of joy. How could we ever be bored?" Today, already, I fell in love with the sunset searing behind the winter trees, and the line from one of my student's poems. (In a poem entitled "How to Climb Mount Everest," she included the line, "Muster the last of your fading strength to finally reach the summit. If you have enough oxygen left, you can yodel.") So, I'm two out of three for my falling-in-love goal today, and it's not yet 3:00.
One last sign from the Universe...I had to fill out a choice form for yet another in-service workshop for next week, and the workshop titles were things like Fun in the Mac Lab and a bunch of other computer-y things I do not care about a bit, and one called "Teachers Write." We're supposed to just show up, and...write. Or share something we've already written. Nothing like this has ever been offered at my school before, and the fact that it jumped into my world has meaning, I think. Or rather, I ascribe meaning to it....which is essentially the same thing.
I hope this March is finding some crocuses poking through YOUR spirit, too.
"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action. And because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique and if it you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how "good" it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open."
This struck me hard, because like anyone who writes, I often battle the devil-on-my-shoulder, whose basic message is, "Who the hell do you think you ARE to yammer on about stuff and expect anyone to be remotely interested?" The song has different lyrics all the time, but the tune is the same. I also read, "A work of art uses the artist to get itself done; as I work, I am able to find out what it wants to be." I find this concept bolstering right now, though, to remind myself that it doesn't really matter, and whether or not anyone reads anything I write is not my decision to make, nor my matter to control. I just need to write it.
Although I do have one friend who threatened to throw himself into an electric fence if I didn't post soon. So, CTD, this one's for you...
I find that when I look at the world expectantly, looking for things to inspire me, the Universe never, ever lets me down. So I'm watching and waiting.
I also read today that a key to being a writer, and indeed a passionate creator of any kind, is to "fall in love three times a day." With a photograph, a perfect strawberry, a beautiful human, an expression of vulnerability from a 12-year-old-boy. Matthew Fox said, "If we fell in love with one of Mozart's work each week, we would have seven years of joy. How could we ever be bored?" Today, already, I fell in love with the sunset searing behind the winter trees, and the line from one of my student's poems. (In a poem entitled "How to Climb Mount Everest," she included the line, "Muster the last of your fading strength to finally reach the summit. If you have enough oxygen left, you can yodel.") So, I'm two out of three for my falling-in-love goal today, and it's not yet 3:00.
One last sign from the Universe...I had to fill out a choice form for yet another in-service workshop for next week, and the workshop titles were things like Fun in the Mac Lab and a bunch of other computer-y things I do not care about a bit, and one called "Teachers Write." We're supposed to just show up, and...write. Or share something we've already written. Nothing like this has ever been offered at my school before, and the fact that it jumped into my world has meaning, I think. Or rather, I ascribe meaning to it....which is essentially the same thing.
I hope this March is finding some crocuses poking through YOUR spirit, too.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Two Perfect Words
Henry James once wrote..."Summer afternoon...summer afternoon...are there two more perfect words in the English language?"
Yes, Mr. James. And they are "Snow Day."
And a wonderful one it's been. I made clam chowder in the crockpot. I did a Dancing with the Stars exercise DVD. I worked on a Harry Potter puzzle with my oldest girl. Got some pictures up on Facebook. My daughters wrote a musical about slavery with the neighbor-girl. I cleaned off my desk in the Athenaeum. Talked to my wonderful Craig in Seattle. Lit a vanilla candle. Drank wine. Watched way too much Channel 5 weather reporting and like two hours of DVD extras about Shakleton...it was a precious day, a restful day, a day of spiritual renewal and peace.
It's funny...it seems that the more I appreciate things...the more there is to appreciate. The Universe, in my little morning notes, told me this would happen, and amazingly enough it always turns out to be true.
So thanks for this Snow Day. Tomorrow is a bit of a question mark for me, but today? Today was just grand.
Yes, Mr. James. And they are "Snow Day."
And a wonderful one it's been. I made clam chowder in the crockpot. I did a Dancing with the Stars exercise DVD. I worked on a Harry Potter puzzle with my oldest girl. Got some pictures up on Facebook. My daughters wrote a musical about slavery with the neighbor-girl. I cleaned off my desk in the Athenaeum. Talked to my wonderful Craig in Seattle. Lit a vanilla candle. Drank wine. Watched way too much Channel 5 weather reporting and like two hours of DVD extras about Shakleton...it was a precious day, a restful day, a day of spiritual renewal and peace.
It's funny...it seems that the more I appreciate things...the more there is to appreciate. The Universe, in my little morning notes, told me this would happen, and amazingly enough it always turns out to be true.
So thanks for this Snow Day. Tomorrow is a bit of a question mark for me, but today? Today was just grand.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Bits of Things
***Ooooh…I love a blizzard. I double love a blizzard on a day that will not impact my rehearsal schedule, especially when I’m doing Noises Off and we are all in holy-shit-what-have-we-done mode. Doors and sardines. Bang, you’re in, bang, you’ve said it, bang, you’re off…GOOD GOD. Storms, however, can set my middle school students swinging from the rafters, so this morning, they are illustrating sixth-grade examples of Confucius sayings while listening to classical music. I really do believe that the combination of art and music can sooth the most savage of beasts...even 12 year olds on the eve of a Nor'easter.
***I went to an audition on Sunday and loved it for like thirty reasons. One, because it helped me really remember what it’s like for my students, what it feels like to wait and wonder. Two, because it helped me plug into someone that I used to be…someone I can still dimly remember, the girl who had a certain determination and a flutter or hope and a reason to sing showtunes in the car. It was fun to hang out with that girl again. Three, because I just love theater people…the soccer moms who dabble for fun, the super-serious ones who have the appropriate character shoes and their music in a binder, and the crazies…oh, how I love the crazies. The ones who wear way too tight skirts and over-curl their hair and then randomly start talking in British accents and sing songs from Rent loudly in the parking lot. I love them too, and admire their view of themselves and their world. I think my favorite part, though, was getting to witness the moment when the two that I think will be the leading lady and leading man danced together, and it was just glorious magical chemistry, and even just sitting in the audience, I felt that zing of …YES. There it is. The birth of a show, right there. I loved getting to watch that…knowing that I do not have to be remotely in charge of what happens next.
***My oldest daughter turns eleven on Saturday. I remember eleven. I was not so crazy about eleven. But my girl, at eleven, is so self-assured, so joyful, so smart and optimistic and industrious, and I still can’t believe that we made her. Watching her become all that she is, and has yet to be, is one of the greatest gifts of my life. Every day.
***In my mind, lately, I have been narrating my own personal Weight Watchers “after” commercial. Sounds something like, “As a busy working mom, I thought I’d never be able to take charge of my weight. There was just no time! But thanks to Weight Watchers new Points Plus program, I lost forty pounds…just in time for my 40th birthday trip with the girls! AND I did it while still getting to have pizza and chardonnay!” I’m feeling so sure of it, this vibrant picture with the exuberant commercial voice, and the image fills me with energy. Something about narrating my own life story as I want to hear it is feeling very empowering right now. Sometimes, I reach for a snack, and I hear the narration of the “before” segment..."Before Weight Watchers, I would just grab that Oreo and eat it mindlessly…but now, I have to decide, is it worth it? Is there something else I could have that would be more satisfying and less points? It’s all about choices!” I will see it happen. I will make it happen. I will be my after story. Of course, I had to drown the last remaining Christmas snack food (Chocolate Lovers Poppycock - delicious snack of the devil) in dish soap before throwing it away in order to assure its demise and help me on my way to that vision, but hopefully that level of crazy won’t be in the commercial.
***To those of you who read this, and have been wondering where I have been for the past month or two...sorry about that. I lost my mojo a little bit in there. Plus, I have been doing the Artist's Way and doing lots of journaling for that, and it all got to be a lot of "enough already." Plus...though this might sound strange...I've been kind of shifting lately. It's not just sort of passively happening to me, either. I'm choosing new outlooks, choosing different behaviors, becoming more mindful of everything I do and say, and not just around what I eat, though that has been the catalyst. It's been exhilarating, but unsettling, and I needed to get the foundation a bit more square under my feet before I had a sense of what I wanted to share here. So, thanks for your patience. I'm emerging, better and stronger and more full of joy than I have been in a long, long time. And I have stuff to say about it.
Thanks for sticking around.
***I went to an audition on Sunday and loved it for like thirty reasons. One, because it helped me really remember what it’s like for my students, what it feels like to wait and wonder. Two, because it helped me plug into someone that I used to be…someone I can still dimly remember, the girl who had a certain determination and a flutter or hope and a reason to sing showtunes in the car. It was fun to hang out with that girl again. Three, because I just love theater people…the soccer moms who dabble for fun, the super-serious ones who have the appropriate character shoes and their music in a binder, and the crazies…oh, how I love the crazies. The ones who wear way too tight skirts and over-curl their hair and then randomly start talking in British accents and sing songs from Rent loudly in the parking lot. I love them too, and admire their view of themselves and their world. I think my favorite part, though, was getting to witness the moment when the two that I think will be the leading lady and leading man danced together, and it was just glorious magical chemistry, and even just sitting in the audience, I felt that zing of …YES. There it is. The birth of a show, right there. I loved getting to watch that…knowing that I do not have to be remotely in charge of what happens next.
***My oldest daughter turns eleven on Saturday. I remember eleven. I was not so crazy about eleven. But my girl, at eleven, is so self-assured, so joyful, so smart and optimistic and industrious, and I still can’t believe that we made her. Watching her become all that she is, and has yet to be, is one of the greatest gifts of my life. Every day.
***In my mind, lately, I have been narrating my own personal Weight Watchers “after” commercial. Sounds something like, “As a busy working mom, I thought I’d never be able to take charge of my weight. There was just no time! But thanks to Weight Watchers new Points Plus program, I lost forty pounds…just in time for my 40th birthday trip with the girls! AND I did it while still getting to have pizza and chardonnay!” I’m feeling so sure of it, this vibrant picture with the exuberant commercial voice, and the image fills me with energy. Something about narrating my own life story as I want to hear it is feeling very empowering right now. Sometimes, I reach for a snack, and I hear the narration of the “before” segment..."Before Weight Watchers, I would just grab that Oreo and eat it mindlessly…but now, I have to decide, is it worth it? Is there something else I could have that would be more satisfying and less points? It’s all about choices!” I will see it happen. I will make it happen. I will be my after story. Of course, I had to drown the last remaining Christmas snack food (Chocolate Lovers Poppycock - delicious snack of the devil) in dish soap before throwing it away in order to assure its demise and help me on my way to that vision, but hopefully that level of crazy won’t be in the commercial.
***To those of you who read this, and have been wondering where I have been for the past month or two...sorry about that. I lost my mojo a little bit in there. Plus, I have been doing the Artist's Way and doing lots of journaling for that, and it all got to be a lot of "enough already." Plus...though this might sound strange...I've been kind of shifting lately. It's not just sort of passively happening to me, either. I'm choosing new outlooks, choosing different behaviors, becoming more mindful of everything I do and say, and not just around what I eat, though that has been the catalyst. It's been exhilarating, but unsettling, and I needed to get the foundation a bit more square under my feet before I had a sense of what I wanted to share here. So, thanks for your patience. I'm emerging, better and stronger and more full of joy than I have been in a long, long time. And I have stuff to say about it.
Thanks for sticking around.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Christmas Cliches
I love Christmas. I love all of it. And I don’t feel put upon that I try to accomplish so much at this time of year. I don't want to miss anything. I’m glad to do it all, inspired to do it. But doing it all takes a lot of energy – mental energy, like production week – and sometimes I need a breather to put the energy back. I’ll be a better Mrs. Claus/Supermom tomorrow because of it.
The only thing I don’t love about Christmas is the pressure of knowing I only have one shot at it. I only get one chance to do Christmas of Fifth and Fourth grade, just like I had only one senior year in high school Christmas and one Last Christmas Before Kids Christmas. I don’t want to squander my chance at creating something meaningful and full of light because I’m lazy or inattentive, or on the other end, too busy and focused. And not because I feel like I have to. I want to. I want to know that when this special time of year came, I was ready for it, made room for it, welcomed it and allowed myself to be inspired. I think maybe that’s the heart of it all. The love I feel at Christmastime inspires me, right down to the bottom of my soul. The love I express through the gifts I give and the conversations I have and the surge of love just from singing with John Denver and the Muppets in my car. This love helps me remember to fill the freaking elf doors every night. It makes me take the time to write the note or make the gift that will show my appreciation for the many wonders and miracles in my life, my family, my exquisite friends. And it has staying power.
Every year, we have this Christmas party. Elise and I started it during the first year we lived together, and it has grown to be a yearly reunion of our college friends. The event that we just don’t miss. We had to reschedule it two different years, and made it something else like Faux Valentine’s, but it wasn’t the same. It’s the Christmas that matters. People take that valuable last Saturday before Christmas, when there are lots of other worthwhile things to be doing, and they come to our house in the cold – bring their babies or pay a babysitter or borrow the car. These fine, fine people who are contributing to the world and being all sexy and brilliant come to my house, because it’s Christmastime, and we all belong together at Christmas. I feel so humbled by that.
And I love Christmas for the shared recognition that there really is a Santa Claus, and he is part of all of us, and that a baby was born that brought hope and inspiration to so many and made people live better in his name. That Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us are, indeed, the dearest of all, the ones you live for, cherish, admire. These are the friends who help you be a better person, because you know they love you, and you aspire to be the best of the person they think you are.
I don’t even know if that makes sense. I only know that I honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. I live in the Past, the Present and the Future, and I live open-hearted to the lessons the Universe is teaching. And every Christmas, under the spell of twinkle lights and eggnog and Hallmark movies, I reaffirm that pledge and start anew.
This is a song that I love by Nancy LaMott, called “All Those Christmas Cliches.” It’s on the mix CD I made to remember this Christmas by, along with two songs from Glee and “True Blue Miracle” from the Sesame Street Muppets…and a bunch of other stuff. I will totally make you a copy if you want one…it’s what Christmas sounds like in Kelly’s Head.
Anyhoo…here are the lyrics…
I’ve spent Christmas in Peoria, Christmas in Schenectedy, Christmas in Las Vegas and L.A.
And I always thought it couldn’t matter less, But lately, come December, I confess
I want the tree full of toys and tinsel, I want the wreath on the red front door
I want the elves in the yard and each sentimental card dripping glitter on the floor
I want a roof full of plywood reindeer, I want a road full of horse-drawn sleighs
All Those Christmas Cliches
I want the turkey with all the trimmings, the turkey mom hardly ever made
I want the gulp and tear at the moment that I hear Johnny Mathis being played
I want a lake full of perfect skaters, I want that fruit cake with sugar glaze
All Those Christmas Cliches
Not to mention the snow, not to mention the choir, not to mention the candles in the window, and chestnuts roasting on the fire
Inside a house filled with noise and laughter along a street bathed in twinkling light
I want the bells and the drums, mistletoe and sugar plums, and kids to tuck in tight
And as for that guy in the bright red outfit, instead of flying off he stays
All Those Christmas Cliches
I want those overblown, corny, heartwarming, Hallmark Christmas cliches.
The only thing I don’t love about Christmas is the pressure of knowing I only have one shot at it. I only get one chance to do Christmas of Fifth and Fourth grade, just like I had only one senior year in high school Christmas and one Last Christmas Before Kids Christmas. I don’t want to squander my chance at creating something meaningful and full of light because I’m lazy or inattentive, or on the other end, too busy and focused. And not because I feel like I have to. I want to. I want to know that when this special time of year came, I was ready for it, made room for it, welcomed it and allowed myself to be inspired. I think maybe that’s the heart of it all. The love I feel at Christmastime inspires me, right down to the bottom of my soul. The love I express through the gifts I give and the conversations I have and the surge of love just from singing with John Denver and the Muppets in my car. This love helps me remember to fill the freaking elf doors every night. It makes me take the time to write the note or make the gift that will show my appreciation for the many wonders and miracles in my life, my family, my exquisite friends. And it has staying power.
Every year, we have this Christmas party. Elise and I started it during the first year we lived together, and it has grown to be a yearly reunion of our college friends. The event that we just don’t miss. We had to reschedule it two different years, and made it something else like Faux Valentine’s, but it wasn’t the same. It’s the Christmas that matters. People take that valuable last Saturday before Christmas, when there are lots of other worthwhile things to be doing, and they come to our house in the cold – bring their babies or pay a babysitter or borrow the car. These fine, fine people who are contributing to the world and being all sexy and brilliant come to my house, because it’s Christmastime, and we all belong together at Christmas. I feel so humbled by that.
And I love Christmas for the shared recognition that there really is a Santa Claus, and he is part of all of us, and that a baby was born that brought hope and inspiration to so many and made people live better in his name. That Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us are, indeed, the dearest of all, the ones you live for, cherish, admire. These are the friends who help you be a better person, because you know they love you, and you aspire to be the best of the person they think you are.
I don’t even know if that makes sense. I only know that I honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. I live in the Past, the Present and the Future, and I live open-hearted to the lessons the Universe is teaching. And every Christmas, under the spell of twinkle lights and eggnog and Hallmark movies, I reaffirm that pledge and start anew.
This is a song that I love by Nancy LaMott, called “All Those Christmas Cliches.” It’s on the mix CD I made to remember this Christmas by, along with two songs from Glee and “True Blue Miracle” from the Sesame Street Muppets…and a bunch of other stuff. I will totally make you a copy if you want one…it’s what Christmas sounds like in Kelly’s Head.
Anyhoo…here are the lyrics…
I’ve spent Christmas in Peoria, Christmas in Schenectedy, Christmas in Las Vegas and L.A.
And I always thought it couldn’t matter less, But lately, come December, I confess
I want the tree full of toys and tinsel, I want the wreath on the red front door
I want the elves in the yard and each sentimental card dripping glitter on the floor
I want a roof full of plywood reindeer, I want a road full of horse-drawn sleighs
All Those Christmas Cliches
I want the turkey with all the trimmings, the turkey mom hardly ever made
I want the gulp and tear at the moment that I hear Johnny Mathis being played
I want a lake full of perfect skaters, I want that fruit cake with sugar glaze
All Those Christmas Cliches
Not to mention the snow, not to mention the choir, not to mention the candles in the window, and chestnuts roasting on the fire
Inside a house filled with noise and laughter along a street bathed in twinkling light
I want the bells and the drums, mistletoe and sugar plums, and kids to tuck in tight
And as for that guy in the bright red outfit, instead of flying off he stays
All Those Christmas Cliches
I want those overblown, corny, heartwarming, Hallmark Christmas cliches.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The Santa Struggle
My little one, my emotional, tempestuous daughter, came home in a rage yesterday. "It was a great day until I got on the bus to come come and Matthew and Emily both kept saying there was no Santa Claus and I kept telling them that I was going to write a letter and tell Santa that they said that, and then they'd be sorry!" Oh, she was in a fit. Which is sort of cute and charming, in a way, that level of belief, but also alarming in the holy-shit-what-have-I-done kind of way. While I am deeply proud of the sense of magic that we've perpetuated in our daughters for their entire childhood, I know we're hitting the end game in that regard, and I honestly am not sure how to handle it. So what have I done in that regard? I just keep repeating, "I believe in Santa. As long as you believe, he comes." All of which is true. But last week when she made me pinky-swear that I don't put the presents under the tree, I did it, with the justification that, actually, the Santa presents are left NEXT to the tree. So, it's not exactly lying. Right? I don't know. I just don't know. But I do know that the fit she pitched yesterday evening due to her frustrated feelings came out as the nasty, sarcastic, mean-spirited spitting remarks that I lie in fear of when I picture her teenage life. Managing her feelings is a life-skill that we are trying so hard to teach her. Not seeing so much success there yet.
I don't know if I'm doing her more harm by keeping Santa alive than if I just sat down and told her the truth of it all. I have listened to what other people have done with this issue, but nothing has felt just right to me. Maybe it's my own weakeness and inability to look into her disappointed little blue eyes and say the words that will break her heart. On the other hand, am I just making things worse for her as she has to fight the playground battles and gets laughed at in the process? I told her that there are lots and lots of people who don't believe in Santa, and that she should maybe just keep her opinions to herself if she doesn't want to keep getting her feelings hurt. But for all of her sometimes incomprehensible fit-pitching behavior, she has, at her core, a very strong sense of justice. That's where it all comes from, I think. She has a firm belief that she knows what is right and wrong, what is fair and unfair, and the idea of NOT speaking up about that is foreign to her nature. While it's exhausting to have a child that so vehemently sticks up for what she believes (especially when Patrick and I are often in the not-fair category, in her opinion), it's still a powerful quality to have. My job, I know, is to help her find judgement in choosing her battles, and find a balance between speaking out and listening hard to people that she can trust to guide her.
Sigh. It's really just that....parenting is hard. Even the good stuff is still hard, and takes so much energy and tact and discomfort. I am trying so hard to do the right things, and so many nights I tuck them in and just want to put my head down and cry about it all, about the possibility of how seriously I can screw up two small people in the world if I'm not careful. Or even if I am careful.
In other news, we did have a wonderful weekend in New York City with my mom. She took us to see Elf and Wicked, and we saw the Rockefeller Center tree and the amazing windows on 5th avenue and stayed at the Marriot, and really had a magical Christmas adventure. So much joy. The only shadow on things was the same parenting issue I just described, which manifests in many ways. If Patrick and I manage nothing else in this parenting journey, I want to make sure that our children have a sense of appreciation for the good things they receieve, and the good things in the world, and an understanding that everything worth having comes from hard work. I know how hard my parents, and Patrick and I, had to work to afford the special things the girls got to see and do this weekend, and I just keep hoping that the message to appreciate both the tangible and the magical becomes a firm part of their foundation.
Working on it. All we can do is just keep on working on it.
I don't know if I'm doing her more harm by keeping Santa alive than if I just sat down and told her the truth of it all. I have listened to what other people have done with this issue, but nothing has felt just right to me. Maybe it's my own weakeness and inability to look into her disappointed little blue eyes and say the words that will break her heart. On the other hand, am I just making things worse for her as she has to fight the playground battles and gets laughed at in the process? I told her that there are lots and lots of people who don't believe in Santa, and that she should maybe just keep her opinions to herself if she doesn't want to keep getting her feelings hurt. But for all of her sometimes incomprehensible fit-pitching behavior, she has, at her core, a very strong sense of justice. That's where it all comes from, I think. She has a firm belief that she knows what is right and wrong, what is fair and unfair, and the idea of NOT speaking up about that is foreign to her nature. While it's exhausting to have a child that so vehemently sticks up for what she believes (especially when Patrick and I are often in the not-fair category, in her opinion), it's still a powerful quality to have. My job, I know, is to help her find judgement in choosing her battles, and find a balance between speaking out and listening hard to people that she can trust to guide her.
Sigh. It's really just that....parenting is hard. Even the good stuff is still hard, and takes so much energy and tact and discomfort. I am trying so hard to do the right things, and so many nights I tuck them in and just want to put my head down and cry about it all, about the possibility of how seriously I can screw up two small people in the world if I'm not careful. Or even if I am careful.
In other news, we did have a wonderful weekend in New York City with my mom. She took us to see Elf and Wicked, and we saw the Rockefeller Center tree and the amazing windows on 5th avenue and stayed at the Marriot, and really had a magical Christmas adventure. So much joy. The only shadow on things was the same parenting issue I just described, which manifests in many ways. If Patrick and I manage nothing else in this parenting journey, I want to make sure that our children have a sense of appreciation for the good things they receieve, and the good things in the world, and an understanding that everything worth having comes from hard work. I know how hard my parents, and Patrick and I, had to work to afford the special things the girls got to see and do this weekend, and I just keep hoping that the message to appreciate both the tangible and the magical becomes a firm part of their foundation.
Working on it. All we can do is just keep on working on it.
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