moments of a photo-obsessed journalist
Happy birth day Jesus! Today we celebrate your gift to us. I’m feeling mighty blessed with presents already and haven’t even unwrapped a thing from under the tree. How awesome is that?
It’s our first Christmas as a bonafide family of seven! Look at how we’ve grown. I cannot wait to share my year-in-review reflections.
I should probably preface my rant with an admission: I still receive an annual gift from Santa. More specifically, it is a wrapped delight I’d otherwise never get for myself but have coveted for months – years even – and it surfaces under the tree at momndad’s house from “Da + Ma Claus.” Yes, I know it’s something lovingly acquired through some extra saving efforts of my parents, but it’s been treasured long since Santa and the elves became folklore instead of fact.
As for my own children, the Santa tradition has continued. When Chi was old enough to unwrap her own presents (just after her first birthday), Santa paid her a visit. The following year, she helped pick out a Santa snack and left it near our tree. She’s scurried around searching for something to give him a break from his annual deliveries every year since.
It was only natural for Ya to join in the tradition – making his wish list, helping Chi select a Santa repose. And he’s enjoyed celebrating the mystique of this bearded gift giver for three short years.
But this year, a somewhat jaded brother decided to offer Santa and his magical visits with the reindeer a repose of another kind. I am not amused. I am not happy. It was not okay.
Chi was certainly phasing out of the hard core Santa is coming to town cheer squad. It’s neither cool to talk about Santa in fifth grade nor wise to express disbelief should he be real and hear. When he “couldn’t find us” two years ago (when Ya’s grandfather suffered a massive heart attack and we spent our break in family vigil between two states), she became suspect of the jolly old man. Was she a naughty girl? If so, she didn’t know what tremendously bad thing she’d done that hadn’t been forgiven on Christmas morning. She grew temporarily skeptical, but resumed her Dear Santa list last year and was beyond excited to see him honor her request.
There is sort of a rule for all older siblings: do not squash the simple pleasures – the little innocences – of your younger charges. I was the oldest, and though it might’ve given me some sadistic pleasure to throw a dose of reality on my two younger brothers, I had an obligation to protect their beliefs. So I kept quiet when the Easter Bunny became a haunting phantasm at my door, glowing ominously as he peeked in at me and looking nothing like the egg-and-treat-toting happy white bunny smiling in the photos or the little lop-earred bunnies brought in for special event Easter photos. I waited anxiously to see the Tooth Fairy scores as each lost baby tooth after baby tooth while all of mine were already “adult.”
I expected Chi to do no less, and Rico has done me proud in quietly observing the traditions of our little family as he’s assimilated into it.
Was there anything wrong in preserving the magic of Christmas morning for a little longer – - especially now that Cinco is here?
It’s not about religion. My children know full well that Christmas celebrates Jesus’s birthday, that Easter is to reflect on His sacrifice for our sins and His ressurection. I’ve no anti-Christian goal in holding onto Saint Nicholas or any of the other “guardians.” In this scary world, where unstable people acquire guns and open fire on innocents – where babies are stolen, tortured, abused, or killed – I’d like to offer my children a sanctuary. Life in this house may not be perfect, and we may not “have enough” to splurge on the daily I wants, BUT we can make the holidays a little more special than the every days. We can offer love, acceptance, trust, forgiveness, guidance, hugs, kisses, and even adventure.
So for those who cling tenaciously to the belief in Mr. Claus, there’ll be a little present under the tree. And for those who share in the excitment of discovery on Christmas morning, there’ll probably be something special, too. We’re still lining the walk with reindeer feed, and still leaving juice and cookies for the big guy. I’m insisting on it.
“I don’t care if I’m 250; I’m still going to sleep for Santa!
– Chi
Ya insisted on getting his Power Ranger costume when he saw it in the store. I was surprised he was familiar with the show, as it was never one of my favorites when it first aired and I didn’t think it’d made much of a comeback with re-airing. This was his chosen costume for candy collecting (though the mask accompanying the costume was not ideal).
We went out today for an impromptu short photo shoot of Ya’s runner-up costume. Oma found it at the thrift store and immediately thought it’d make a great prop. It was perfect! Jumping right into character, my little lion was full of roars and ferocity.
As we’ve tried to do every year, we’re building our October’s end personas on a budget. A tight budget.
My girl ‘Kea, just gave birth to her beautiful baby girl, so we didn’t get to craft costumes for our “womb mates.” Trust when I say I missed it.
So, the eldest (who still needs a blog moniker) wanted to duplicate his “Killer Clown” from the family day face painting event last spring. He found a stocking-material mask already embellished as a spooky character for $1. We’re working on perfecting the look and ultimately will have added two tattoo sleeves and a hat of some sort. 
Hubs elected to show off his gifts from our summer cruise to the Bahamas – a “Surrender the Booty” pirate shirt and a custom made walking cane. (I love it that Ya calls the shirt “Kill the Butt.”) We added tattoo sleeves (it’s cold at night) and a Captain’s hat to complete his style.
JD, who had no idea what he wanted to be and who has never really had the “Trick or Treat” experience, stood in the store looking at costume accessories in awe. He picked a few $1 pieces to create a law enforcement theme. Adding a long sleeve shirt and a burst of personality, he surprised us.
Who knew thirft stores offered so many gently used costume selections? Oma makes an almost weekly run through the two large stores in our area and found several adorable costumes for under $5 each. As usual, we’ve acquired one more than possible to wear, so Chi insisted on a photo shoot in the costume it’ll be too cold to wear on Halloween evening.
And then there’s me… the portly clown. Oversized, ill-fitting pants, tee, suspenders and dundundununun Afro circus wig. 
It was just shy of 7 pm and my dates for New Year’s Eve were looking quite tired. With all three accompanying me into 2012 being under 10, I’d collected assorted noisys to make the midnight madness a loud and exciting exclamation point on our 2011 fairwell.
And then something happened. The littles were nodding off on the short three miles drive from mom’n'dad’s to home. I made a mental note of this. I’m amazed that car rides confine a child enough to pacify their “if I stop moving, I’ll succumb to sleep” antics and provide much needed parental relief.
Inside our house, we quickly jumped into nighties and took inventory of our celebration goodies. Clackers? Yep, they work. Whirly-whistles? One dud, seven working screamers ready to go. Mardi Gras masks? A little odd, I know, but oh so cool. Any sense of anonymity encourages silliness and inhibitions.
But as the eldest watched the sun set and the darkness overtake the skies, she asked softly, “Mom, can you wake me up when it’s time?” What? I knew we’d be watching the clocks, but could my child – who prolongs night time rituals for hours to avoid sleeping at a reasonable time – konk out even before bedtime?
Nah!
My dad said he was in the Christmas play.
He’s left the house on several occassions for practice.
But the specifics of his role were not provided.
Not even a hint was made.
I’d noticed he was no longer hovering near our table.
He’d disappeared shortly after breakfast was served.
And when the play began, I figured he’d be there soon enough.
A Joseph, perhaps? A shepard? A messenger angel?
Those seemed to be missing in this little play.
But secular characters of the holiday season were plentiful.
Imagine my surprise when Rob leaned over to whisper, “That’s your dad.”
And sure enough, those were his eyes.
That was his nose (with the freckle right in the middle).
His lopsided head?
Obviously a result of the family’s trait of head-shoulder sans neck formation.
Yes…
The gingerbread man was my dad.
