It seems like every year I have to relearn the meaning of Christmas… that wildly crazy holiday that can bring even the most organized and level headed woman to her knees.
The preparations started early this year. By November, my multi-tasking skills were in overdrive as I took every possible opportunity to weave present-buying, party-planning, recipe-gathering, craft-making, house-decorating and gift-wrapping into my already-jam-packed work schedule.
After all, the beginning of December also signaled the start of gymnastics meets, basketball tournaments, church play practices, office cookie bakes and middle school mid-terms. Just about the time I should have been buying matching outfits for our family Christmas card photo or wrapping our house in icicle lights, I was sitting in a gym at a parent’s meeting writing out unexpected checks for gymnastics warm-ups and signing up to work concession stands and team dinners.
There were lots of balls in the air during those weeks, and I dropped more than a few. But, once again, Christmas arrived despite my startled realization and plea for more time.
At 3:40 am the day after Christmas, I woke up wondering if my girls, 9 and 12, had made it to their own beds after staying up late the night before. My husband and I had gone to sleep before they did, exhausted from the whole two-day Christmas extravaganza. We’d spent the previous night at my parent’s house and had finally dropped into bed after getting the last of the bags unpacked, presents unloaded and leftovers put away.
I got up and checked my younger daughter’s bed. Empty. Huh. That was strange. Then I walked quietly up the stairs to my older daughter’s bedroom, stopping to allow my eyes time to adjust to the dark.
Yep. Sure enough. The tiny Christmas miracle I had wished for slowly came into focus.
It was the middle of the night, and my two girls, who were often at odds, and just far enough apart in age to have heated battles and completely different schedules, were sleeping side by side, legs draped over the other, noses almost touching. They had snuggled up together in a single twin bed after a Wii game binge and several hours of laughing, talking and being the kind of friends that only sisters can be. It was a beautiful sight. A precious moment in time.
As I crawled back into bed, I realized how hard I had worked behind the scenes to help make that moment happen, along with a hundred other moments just like it throughout the last several days. You see, it occurred to me… that’s what we women do. We commit ourselves to covering every possible detail that will create the optimum conditions for these types of small miracles to take place.
I guess we figure that if the tree looks just right, the house smells like sugar cookies and the presents are carefully chosen, the hugs and “I love yous” will flow more easily among the people that we care about most. If the messes are tidied and the dishes are done, our tribe will be more likely to settle in, play games, share stories and feel part of something bigger than themselves. Something they can carry with them the whole rest of the year.
Making Christmas happen is hard work. Ask my mom. She shoulders the bulk of the heavy lifting by heading up the kitchen. It takes her weeks to orchestrate the whole dance of frozen turkeys, dry clean-only table linens, ice cream pies and appetizers.
But I’ve seen her face as she pauses between shifting dishes around in the oven to look out over her living room full of kids and grandkids. She scans the crowd for soft smiles and sparkly eyes and hands gently touching shoulders. She’s hoping she has spun just the right magic for the spirit of the season to live in that room, if only for a few hours, and bring all of us the moments of peace and belonging that Christmas promises.
She has, and it does.
This year, at 3:40 am on December 26th, I was reminded that the true spirit of Christmas comes to us in moments. Sometimes long, often short and occasionally taking us completely off guard. But those moments are the gift. I believe that they started with a baby in a manger and continue to live on in the way we love and care for one another each and every day. Christmas is just our annual refresher course, and worth every bit of work we invest in helping it along.
Another year, another lesson.
Until we do it all over again, Merry Christmas. And (yawn) good night.
Betsy, this was so beautiful! It made me cry. Thanks for sharing.
ditto…
You are such a beautiful person inside and out. Love you Bets!
Betsy..
You are beautiful. AND a gifted writer. Thanks for putting those moments we Mothers all love into words!!