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