The blessings of a 'simple Christmas'

Every year, on the day after Christmas, the women in my family gather at my parents’ house. My aunts, sister, mother, grandmother, my children, and I come together to just sit and visit with each other – something that seems to elude us on the actual holiday.

As we talk and knit, often finishing Christmas gifts that didn’t quite get done in time, we share stories of holiday preparations, shopping and gift-making.

In our constant quest to make holidays less stressful and more enjoyable for everyone, we also make plans for next year!

It was at one such gathering many years ago that we decided to “pull names” and only buy gifts for one person, instead of trying to get “a little something” for everyone in our large extended family.

For a while this was a great relief and a lot of fun. We picked names sometime in the fall and set to work creating something special for one person.

At some point, we decided to get birthdays under control as well by all keeping our Christmas person for the following year’s birthday.

For a while we were in a good groove and everyone seemed to be enjoying our simplified holiday exchanges, until somewhere along the way things started to shift.

Kids in the family (officially defined, much like dependants on health-insurance policies, as “up to age 21 or while a full-time undergraduate student”) came of age and the family circle expanded through marriage.

And then there was the question of boyfriends and girlfriends and whether or not to include them in the pool (i.e. would people date long enough to make it through the full Christmas-birthday cycle?).

Eventually things broke down and we pretty much all ended up exchanging gift cards – and not feeling all that great about it.

In hopes of saving us from another year of uninspired gift-card swapping, my sister started an e-mail “wish list” that we were to all add to and pass along.

We tried this for a couple of years with some success, but not everyone played along with giving ideas, and not everyone played along with buying from the “suggested gift list,” so this plan was eventually scrapped, which brings us to last year’s post-holiday review and this year’s holiday challenge – homemade gifts.

It seemed innocent enough: one homemade present and a full year to make it happen. And we all agreed that it didn’t have to be completely handmade.

The idea, once again, was to simplify the experience of Christmas gift-giving and prevent last-minute panic shopping by encouraging us to spend more time than money on presents.

The hope was that we would really think about the person receiving the gift and connect with that person in a way that a $50 gift card from Home Depot just can’t do.

In the weeks after Christmas, e-mails were exchanged, and ideas were flowing.
And then I’m not quite sure what happened. Spring rolled into summer and outdoor fun and parties and busyness.

Dreaming about homemade Christmas gifts, and much less doing anything about them, just kind of drifted away.

And then next thing we knew it was fall, and like it always does in September, time seemed to speed up.

At one of our family gatherings in October, a secret meeting was held by the men and they all pulled out of the gift-making experiment.

The women, none of whom had started making gifts, were not ready to give up however.
We loosened the rules even more and gift cards were once again fair game, but we all held the intention to try to make some part of the gift homemade.

In the next several weeks I got a small glimpse of what I’ve seen my graduate-student friends go through as they wrestle with dissertations.

I had bursts of inspiration, followed by weeks of creative drought, where I cursed the whole idea and Martha Stewart for making us think we all can and should try to make our own gifts.
I resigned myself to buying yet another gift-certificate, until one day a couple of weeks before Christmas an idea came to me.

Next thing I knew my kitchen table was an art studio and instead of just humoring my three-year-old by half-heartedly painting along with her, I set to work on a painting of my own – a watercolor for my mother, champion of any and all creative projects I’ve ever attempted.
As I finished the painting a few days before Christmas I realized what a gift this process had been for me.

My tackle box filled with art supplies, my faithful companion from long ago, is dust-free and once again in use.

Paintbrushes now sit in a jar on my kitchen windowsill awaiting the next wave of creative inspiration.

Yogurt containers, Styrofoam packaging, and plastic tops are once again treasured, rinsed and saved to be reused as paint pallets and I have reconnected with the feeling of deep joy that giving a gift from your Soul brings.

Mothering.com: Dear Lily

Mothering.com
Web Exclusive, December 14, 2007

Dear Lily,
You nursed for the final time on Saturday. It was the middle of the day and we were at the YMCA, tucked in our special corner, as the rest of the world, and your brother Quinn chased by Nana, whirled by around us. As we snuggled in our quiet spot, where we have nursed so many times before, I didn't know it would be the last time we would do so.

I'm so grateful that I did not rush you but joyfully savored the special bond that we have shared for almost three years now.

Nursing did not come easy for us. Your birth was beautiful, peaceful and natural. Nursing, however, was anything but. Several nurses, our midwife and a lactation consultant tried to help us. They grabbed my breast and squeezed it and pushed it into your tiny mouth but you just couldn't latch on to my deeply inverted nipples. Eventually—after much frustration and many tears—they gave me shields to wear and you were able to latch on with those. I still remember how it felt the first time you latched and drew my breast, shield and all, into your mouth. I sobbed with joy.

We nursed with the shields, which we lost many times in our bed and my clothes, for about three months. At that point you were bigger and stronger and were able to draw my nipples out on your own.

I loved nursing you and we nursed everywhere—sitting on benches, under trees, at the mall, in the sling while grocery shopping, in restaurants, in parking lots, at concerts, and in church. Nursing has been, by far, my favorite part of being your mother.

I thought I would nurse you for at least two years, but Papa and I also wanted you to have a sibling close in age. I never stopped to think about how nursing and pregnancy would work—or not work—I just kept nursing you because it felt right.

There were definitely times during the pregnancy that I thought about weaning and we had to make some changes. When my nipples became sore we shortened our nursing sessions by singing songs and counting down, and we gave up night-nursing because my body was just too tired.

Looking back I now see that the end of night-nursing was a beautiful beginning—the time when your relationship with Papa grew to a new level. You learned that his snuggles, stories and songs could comfort you as together you created new nighttime rituals, different, but no less sacred than those that you and I shared. As my belly grew, nursing became a bit awkward. We tried new positions like standing or sitting side-by-side, but your favorite was draped over my big belly, wrapping your body around our baby.

When I went into labor, you were there and we nursed several times. In fact it was nursing you at the restaurant near the hospital that kicked my labor into high gear and sent Papa and I dashing to the car. You followed along with Nana, Grandpa and Aunt Jill and we nursed several more times in the hospital waiting room, the hallway, and a hard squeaky rocking chair—each time sending a surge of energy through my body, bringing our baby closer.

When Quinn was born, Papa gently lifted you, heavy with sleep, out of Nana's arms and brought you to meet your brother. You eyes widened as you took in this incredible reality. Within seconds you latched on to nurse while you stared intently at your new baby brother and up at me. It was absolutely magical. In the weeks and months after the birth, I had many different emotions about nursing you. (I should mention that you stopped eating all food and only wanted "monnie" milk.)

I was often exhausted and overwhelmed and thought I made a mistake by not weaning you during the pregnancy when everyone assumed I would. But once again, we found our way. Slowly, we created a new rhythm that worked for both of us and nursing you became a joy again.

In the past year I have nursed you before your brother, after you brother, while chasing your brother, and alongside your brother.

As Quinn has gotten older you and he have started to be silly and play while you are nursing together. You hold hands and Quinn likes to tug at your hair. Sometimes you forget and start laughing—accidentally biting your mama. Ouch! Recently I have started to feel increased resistance to nursing you. These feeling have been painful and confusing for me, but the more I journal and listen to my heart, I am comforted. I know that weaning, like so many life transitions, is another beginning disguised as an ending.

You are almost three and overflowing with your own ideas and sense of self. In the last several months you started using the potty and in the coming months you will start nursery school.
It has started to feel to me like nursing is holding you back as you teeter between the worlds of toddlerhood and childhood. You are having more frequent tantrums and difficulty sleeping and I feel in my heart that weaning is the best thing for both of us.

Last week I set the intention to wean by your third birthday, which is in two months.

I also wrote affirmations to help me with the process...

~ There are infinite, creative ways to meet Lily's physical and emotional needs.
~ I am grateful for the nursing relationship that we have shared.
~ I honor the messages my body is sending. I am listening and responding...

and as it always does, the Universe responded.

Friday night you asked to sleep at Nana and Grandpa's house. When I came to pick you up early the next morning you were so happy to see me, as I was to see you, but for the first time ever, you didn't ask to nurse the second I walked in the door. I felt a rush of relief and a surge of excitement for both of us as you told me about sleeping in Nana and Grandpa's bed, and making French toast for breakfast.

Later when you asked to nurse at the YMCA, I was able to do so with joy and love, without hesitation, knowing that our nursing relationship was now in the hands of the Universe. I barely even noticed you twiddling your favorite mole, the one under my left arm, in the softest, most sensitive skin—the very act that has almost sent me over the edge so many times before when I was overtired and touched out.

Saturday night Aunt Jill slept over and snuggled you and Quinn to bed so you didn't ask to nurse, and in the morning, rushing downstairs to climb in bed with your Auntie was more exciting than nursing.

By Sunday afternoon, I realized what was happening. My intentions were being answered—much more quickly that I expected but in the way that was just right for both of us.

In the past week both of us have cried tears of sadness and discomfort (many are flowing while I write this to you) and there have been plenty of awkward moments as we find our way. But there is also a deep sense of peace, knowing that while the form of the Divine energy flowing between us will continually change as our relationship evolves, it will forever flow.

I love you so much and I am so grateful that you chose me to be your mother.

~ Mama

Meal Blessings

“Welcome. Welcome. Welcome to our table. Welcome. Welcome. Let’s all join hands together.”
Usually off-key and rarely synchronized, the “Welcome Song” has signaled the start of meal time in our house since we learned it over two years ago in our Waldorf parent-child class.
Our daughter, not yet a year at the time, was mesmerized by the singing and the lighting of the candle before each meal.

I was equally entranced. The quiet calm that came over the group (a group filled with active babies and toddlers) as the song began was amazing.

Hoping to recreate the “candle effect” at home, we began lighting a candle and singing the song, followed by a short blessing, each night at dinner.

Two-and-a-half years later, the song, the blessing and the candle-lighting remain an important part of our meal experience.

Our son, Quinn, now 18 months, has experienced it since birth and now reaches out to hold hands as soon as we click the strap on his booster seat – sometimes catching one of us forgetting and starting to eat before we sing.

Like every other family on the planet, we have gone through stressful periods where children’s needs, work schedules, and clutter messes got in the way of even sitting together at the table, never mind singing and lighting candles.

But the Welcome Song always finds its way back to us.

Whether it’s me spotting a new beeswax candle in a store, or Quinn toddling around with the candle snuffer singing “Welca-Welca,” something always reminds us how important our family meals and the rituals around them are.

Candles to go
Meal blessings have become so special that we now have a candle, complete with a fancy candelabra, at my parents’ house and at my mother-in-law’s house, it is my niece and nephew who make sure that every meal begins with our song and blessing.

There have been times when the food my mother-in-law prepares smells so good and we are all so hungry that we dive right in.

But every time that has happened, somewhere along the way, at some point in the meal, one of the children has noticed and insisted that we all stop and sing (sometimes simply blessing our dessert).

Getting Started
If you’d like to begin some new mealtime rituals in your house, I’d suggest starting small.
First and foremost, and I thank my dad for consistently holding to this rule, turn off all the background distractions like the television, talk radio, cell phones etc.

If a meal blessing feels too foreign and singing (even off-key like us) is too awkward, you might try what my friends do each night at dinner and take turns answering “What was the best part of your day?”.

Or maybe offer a toast (ourthree-year-old loves drinking her water out of a wine glass and toasting with the rest of us) to set the mood and focus on good-feeling thoughts.

You might even want to start just once a week with a more formal meal blessing or toast and see what evolves.

Or take advantage of upcoming holiday meals – a wonderful time to resurrect a family meal blessing or begin a new tradition!

Here are a few short, child-friendly meal blessings to get you started:

Blessings on our meal, on everyone here and everyone dear.

Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you God for everything.

Earth who gives to us this food; Sun who makes it ripe and good; Dearest Earth, Dearest Sun, Joy and Love for all you have done.

Come Lord Jesus, be our guest and may our daily food be blessed.

Thank you, God, for happy hearts, for rain and sunny weather. Thank you for the food we eat and that we are together.

Finding my Way

When I think back to where I was three-and-a-half years ago, working in university public relations, editing Web sites, photographing community events, supervising interns and teaching yoga in the evenings, it feels like another lifetime.

As I counted down the days to our first child’s birth and the beginning of my maternity leave (from which I knew I would not return), I could not even begin to imagine my life as it is now.
And yet as my growing belly pushed me further away from my keyboard and physical exhaustion made a walk across campus feel like an Olympic event, I spent (far too many) hours daydreaming about what was to come as I began my new life as a stay-at-home mother.

I visualized myself enjoying all of my favorite “at-home” hobbies – gardening, cooking, reading, writing, photography, sewing, knitting, spinning – and even looked forward to exploring some new hobbies like traveling (after all I was no longer going to be tied down to a work schedule).

I imagined myself constantly surrounded by helpful people who rocked my baby while I cooked and sewed.

And for a while it was like that (not so much the cooking and sewing, but lots of people around to help). And then one by one people went back to work; back to their lives and their commitments.

The last one to “abandon” me was my mom, a high school teacher who spent most of her summer vacation helping me and enjoying her new grand-daughter.

By mid-September, I was in a pretty good funk.

The only thing growing in my garden was weeds. My spinning wheel was covered in dust (and eventually banished to the basement where it still remains).

Knitting, reading, traveling…ha! I couldn’t even figure out how to shower regularly or keep up with the endless mountains of laundry, never mind cooking a decent meal or even finding the top of the table so we could have a “family dinner.”

As the long winter days came, the funk mushroomed into panic and waves of depression.

Why was my reality so different than what I thought it would be?

I pictured myself being a happy, go-with-the-flow, mom, baking cookies and singing songs with my child happily strapped to my back and instead found myself just trying to survive the days (and nights), “killing time” and waiting for my husband to come home.

It wasn’t all bad. There were definitely plenty of sweet, tender moments, but overall I felt a sense that something was lacking and I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I started talking to other mothers and my own mother and grandmother.

I asked them about their experiences being home with young children and if they felt the feelings that I was feeling.

What I found was that most mothers of grown children have generally forgotten the challenges of the early years.

But usually after talking for a while, I would see little waves of recognition as they remembered what it was like to never be alone – not even in the bathroom!

One thing I consistently heard from my mom and other women her age is that there was a
much larger community of mothers around them when they were home with their children.

In my parents’ neighborhood alone, my mother had several best friends who were also home with their children. She talked about visiting with each other while they cooked and cleaned and trading childcare so that they all got a little “time off.”

The men in my parents’ group of friends also were consistently home from work by 5 p.m. – something that is not common among the young families that I know.

My grandmother’s generation had different challenges. The jobs that our appliances do for us (washing and drying clothes, diapers and dishes for example) were done by hand.

But in those days children were turned out to play like horses in a field, returning home only when the streetlights came on.

And many of the men of their generation worked over-time or multiple jobs to provide for their families, and were not expected to pitch in at home even if they were there. (Fortunately not the reality for most fathers I know.)

Finding my way
So what does all this mean for me, a mom in the early 21st century, trying to make my way?
What I have come to learn in the last several years, as our family grew to include our now 17-month-old son, is that I am incredibly blessed to live in a time where there are infinite options in creating the family experience we want to have.

For me that means, utilizing modern conveniences like take-out pizza, disposable diapers, and Bob the Builder videos, when I need to, and celebrating choices that I value like cloth diapers, home-cooked meals, and homemade gifts when it feels good to do so.

It’s about creating the community that I want to experience instead of complaining about its lack.

Utilizing babysitters, mother’s helpers, sharing meals with friends, being honest with myself about my expectations, my needs and my limitations and, most importantly, letting go of the idea that I can and should be able to do it all.

As I finish writing this, my three year old is enjoying a morning at preschool and my 17- month-old is at a wonderful home daycare where he is being loved and nurtured.

And – at least in this moment – I have found the joy and the balance and the peace I have been searching for since my parenting journey began.

three fairies...

Make a wish...

The Sunflower field at Buttonwood Farm in Griswold, Conn., where we took a hayride to benefit "Make a Wish."

I saw this beautiful painting today at Kid's City in Middletown, Conn. It's part of the mural in the Toddler's Undersea Watercaves.

Once I spotted it, I couldn't take my eyes off it. How wonderful that someone created this breastfeeding mermaid and that it was included in the mural that surrounds the youngest children's playspace.

About me

I thought I'd start by writing a bit about who I am. Last night while I was cleaning I picked up a journal given to me by my wonderful friend Julianna, which has on it a beautiful poem that is identified only as an "American Indian Prayer."

Feels like a pretty accurate description.

I AM

I am a woman of
light,
a woman
of the day,

I am a
mother
woman,

I am a woman who looks
into the inside of things,

I am a whirling
woman of colors.

Lucky sevens?

Doh.

Computer is running a little slow this morning so I'm not quite going to make my 7 a.m. post on 7-7-07 (which seemed like an auspicious time to begin this new venture). Oh well. I started posting at that time at least!
;-)