There are traditions, there are ruts, and then there are just
unfortunate patterns that repeat themselves by no one’s choice at all.
The lovely thing about traditions is that they provide us with a
familiar framework for an event that grounds us in the present while
connecting us to both the past and the future. I’m fortunate that in
both violin making and playing music I feel part of some level of
tradition every day. It gives meaning to my life that I appreciate
deeply. This is not to say traditions by definition are good. I had an
argument once in college with a roommate who believed such a thing, and
I told her I was sure the KKK had loads of traditions to pass on, but
that didn’t make them good or worth continuing.
Traditions can be
comforting and fun, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be reexamined
periodically, and there should always be room for something new. I love
handing down recipes and stories to my kids that I had as a child, but
I’m just as excited about the addition of new things unique to my
family. For instance, as of this year, our family apparently needs a
mirror ball in the kitchen as part of our celebration. I’m hoping one
day to see my great-grandchildren reverently unpack the family disco
ball as a necessary part of the season.
Ruts are habits people get into that feel like traditions, but are really just things nobody thought enough of to change. We
have ornaments on our tree that have stories attached that we stop and
admire every year, and hanging those is a tradition. Then there are
other goofy things that no one cares about, but they keep ending up in
the box and they just wind up on the tree. Those are the rut
ornaments. A few of those have managed to move up in status as the kids
single them out for attention and assign meaning to them purely because
they remember seeing them the year before. Good enough for me.
Other
ruts in our season include using the same weird blanket that doubles as a
painting drop cloth under the tree just because I never remember to
find something nice until it’s too late, wrapping things badly because I
lose patience with it, and sending cards to some people I never see or
hear from because I can’t think of a good reason not to.
Then there are the unfortunate patterns. When I was a child we drove
from Detroit to Columbus, Ohio every Christmas. The time spent with
grandma and grandpa in their home, eating spritz cookies and stollen was
a tradition. The four hours of driving on dark, icy roads on Christmas
Eve was just an unfortunate byproduct of that, and now I always
associate the holidays a little with motion sickness. Not my own–I
don’t have that problem–but both my brothers used to rock back and forth
the whole ride saying they didn’t feel good. (Actually, one would rock
and chant, and then the other would throw up. Probably a less
glamorous twin thing.) We have been fortunate that for as long as we’ve
been in our house that all the relatives have come to us, so my kids
don’t associate Christmas with travel. (That’s for Easter when we go to
New York.)
My kids enjoy several unique holiday traditions (including my brother
making casts of their feet every year) and some basic ones such as
getting excited about Santa. There are a lot of opinions out there
about how parents deal with the Santa Claus question–whether it’s right
to lie to kids, or if since it’s all in fun it’s okay. I find it
interesting because it’s not much of an issue for us. Aden asks if
Santa is real, and I tell her it’s a story some people believe and some
people don’t, and she can do with it what she likes. I don’t know if
she really believes there’s a Santa, but she likes the stories and she
leaves him healthy snacks (explaining he’s probably sick of cookies by
the time he gets to us). She said she saw the real Santa at a concert
she went to with her class the other day, and Mona was jealous.
However
they think of it is fun for them and they don’t need me pretending to
make reindeer sounds on the roof, so I leave it to them. We don’t have
specific gifts from Santa or anything along those lines, just lots of
fun stuff already piled up under the tree. We don’t put anything in
their stockings until Christmas morning, so maybe they think those
things are from Santa. I don’t tell them anything one way or another
and they seem fine with that. My brother, Barrett, always dresses up at
least once during the holidays in a nasty old Santa suit he got for
free when he was living in the Ozarks for awhile, and it’s pretty
hilarious, but the kids know it’s their uncle and he’s just being
funny. I think Aden plays along with the idea because it’s fun, but I
don’t think she would be crushed if anyone told her it wasn’t true.
There are Webkinz toys (that they’ve been looking at longingly for
months in the store) for them to unwrap in the morning and modeling clay
and markers and ‘jewels’ in their stockings that I know will make them
happy. The rest of the time will be about including their cousin in
their endless pretend games all over the house and putting on an
elaborate puppet show for everyone. I’m hoping to make my grandmother’s
spritz cookies by the light of the mirror ball. Those are traditions
Santa can’t really improve upon, so we don’t worry about him.
I’ve been reflecting on these ideas more than usual this holiday
because things are in flux. Our offer was accepted on the house across
the street (YAY!), so we are on track to move in February. (Coming soon
will be the true test for those who have said, “If there is anything
you need….”) It makes saying goodbye to Ian this time that much harder,
not just because I fear for him in Iraq, but because it’s the last
Christmas with him in this home. It’s also been a difficult holiday
because Ian’s mother was in the hospital in a different state and he
struggled with whether or not he should cut his time short with us to be
with her. After much consideration and hours on the phone arranging
for appropirate care it was determined he didn’t need to fly out there,
but contemplating the mortality of a parent is troubling.
For myself I would say this has been my most emotional holiday
season, except I have a pretty good memory so I know better. The
Christmas during the last deployment was much harder. In December 2006
Ian was in Iraq and we knew we wouldn’t see him again until at least
August. Quinn was just over a month old on Christmas morning and I was
sleep fatigued and nursing. The girls had just turned three and five.
One of my brothers was in the initial stages of a divorce. My grandma
was visiting for what we all suspected would be the last time before she
moved into an assisted living apartment. There were disturbing rifts
within the extended family that were making us all sad.
Yet, I always
love time with my parents and my brothers and uncles and aunts and
cousins even when things are not simply happy. I think back with a
strange fondness on the night my parents watched all my kids and I took a
long midnight walk in the cold with both my brothers as we discussed
sad, important things. My brothers are the reason I wanted more than
one child, because I can’t imagine navigating the world without
siblings.
This year, aside from the worry over Ian’s mom, things are okay. Ian
will get to see his kids unwrap their gifts, both my brothers are the
happiest I’ve known them in years, and I’ll have relatives to laugh with
in the house all the way up to New Year’s. The rifts within the
extended family we are still sad about, but the pain associated with
them have dulled a bit with time. A cousin promised to deliver our
gifts to my grandma at the nursing home on Christmas Day. I miss my
grandma.
It’s been so deliciously normal to have my husband home for a little
while. Not everything was perfect, and we did have an embarrassing
failure in communication that resulted in neither of us picking up the
girls after school one day (we got a call from the office, but Mona
loves being there for some reason so I don’t feel too terrible), but
overall it was a marvelous holiday treat to be a whole family again.
And if Ian has to leave I think it will be good timing for him to go
when he does because the kids will be distracted for a week before his
absence is truly noticable. By the time their uncles and aunt and
cousin and grandparents all head back to their own states, the girls
will be returning to school and jumping back into our no-daddy routine,
so this transition is about as easy as I think we can make it. But I’m
hoping this whole ‘daddy in Iraq’ thing does not remain one of our
recurring holiday themes. War is a pretty lousy rut; this one has been
going on for the entire time my children have been alive. They deserve
better traditions than that.
Merry Everything! Thank you for checking in. I am really enjoying
writing this blog and feel so fortunate to have made connections to so
many thoughtful people through it. I wish you all great joy in 2010.
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