It’s nothing I’m proud of, yet I’m not embarrassed. I share this side of me because I’m human. It’s probably pms. Maybe the perfect storm. Whatever it is, I got snippy yesterday. Not that unusual for me late at night. I get tired and irritable. I’m an introvert to boot, and a whole day of being “on” and interacting pushes me to my limits come nightfall. Especially at Christmastime. And when we have guests. Family. But it was more than normal Caren being grumpy. I felt a variety of emotions colliding and when Todd called me on it, I had to explain.
It must’ve been building throughout the day without me recognizing it. But it surfaced when we got home after a beautiful evening of a horse-drawn carriage ride through lighted neighborhood streets. So festive. And freezing. But warm huddled together under thick carriage blankets, singing carols we thought we knew all the words to. Then a special treat, dinner out at one of our favorite Italian restaurants as a family, a Christmas tradition we didn’t anticipate making but did. Several years back. Just such a nice night. I stopped by our mailbox to gather the days’ wares, and arrived home to a note and chocolates from a friend, along with two huge boxes on our doorstep. Three packages in the mail with the usual day’s 7-8 Christmas cards sandwiched between. Todd carried in a tower (I’m not kidding, probably 8 boxes in assorted sizes topping one another) of expensive chocolates sent from a California friend. Not only that, but teachers at school had sent home handmade gifts and a gift card. The librarian sent home a gift as well as a note saying she’d made a donation to Kahn Academy in my honor. It was so much. So overwhelming. That’s just one day’s worth of goods. We’ve had many others like it. I know you’re wondering where this is all going, sounds heavenly really. But it felt like too much to me. I was suffocating in it all. We are so incredibly comfortable and blessed. I wonder why. And I was frustrated that I was doing so little to move things forward this month, wondering why I haven’t been able to propel my family to serve more, to give more, to feel more. I know I’ve written otherwise, and I really haven’t been that stressed or worried about it until this day. Because it was so much all at once, a tipping point. To me, to us, we don’t deserve this. Granted, a few of the gifts were for my birthday. The chocolate tower was to thank us for having our hunting friend a month or so back. It’s Christmas. Cards will come. Neighbors and friends trade treats. That’s just how great people are. It just overwhelmed me. You know how I get.
Couple that with two days of shopping. Actually three, if you count Saturday. We have enough. More than enough. But to keep looking for more, for whatever reason, wears on me. I just want to be home relaxing with a cheesy movie or finding some way to serve. I guess that was another part of it. We tried to help two different families that morning, neither one worked out, a let-down and the start of my grumpiness because it caused confusion with our plans. The season feels materialistic and worldly when all we do is buy and shop without stopping to give. I felt ungrateful. Humbled. But in a bad way, I acted poorly. My values sometimes conflict with reality, and I felt like I’ve failed my family by not providing more of what Christmas is really about this year.
I’m sad, also, that my kids are too old—all of a sudden this year for some reason—for all the kid traditions that have provided the framework of how we know Christmas is really here: crafting tissue snow flakes with bits littering the kitchen table, after-school sugar cookie festivities, anticipation as to what our elf will do next, cuddling for Christmas stories every night. Even driving around to see the lights. They’ve somehow moved on. I am missing it. It was here last year. Now it’s gone. I also feel like we’ve become a family of five instead of seven, the older two boys all but absent most of the time. I feel like I’m hanging on to the last thread of our familiar family traditions. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just saying I kind of hate it. I loved the old way.
There’s more, those are just some of the highlights. I was snippy with a friend, how rude. I know my mom is sad that my dad isn’t with us this year. And I don’t know how to make it easier for her. I’m wondering if my kids are learning anything important, if they’re getting any of it. I don’t even know if I could pinpoint what the crux of my upset was. Maybe just longing for more than what I’ve been able to provide. The deeper part of Christmas. I think I’m grieving what was, what I wish could be, and realizing I’m too human to really be all that I want me to be. I know in my heart I’m not a failure. I even know that on paper. But I’ll admit in some ways this season I feel like I’m failing my family. By not helping the kids see and know. How to notice a need. How to feel what it’s really about. And yet I’m not one to wallow and give up. I like a challenge. A failure here and there to energize me. To steer me. To recognize where we can improve.
And so I’m always glad for a new day, another chance. To love a little better. To try again. To be a sweeter example. Because I know I have it in me. It just doesn’t always show up.
And it’s been a good week in so many ways. We have dinner together. We talk about the prophecies of Christ’s birth most nights. We gather together before we leave and as we get ready for bed. We pray as a family and before each kid leaves for the day. We’re not perfect. Their attention span is short. I have a lot of opinions and preferences and schedules to consider as we coordinate our days and meals and vehicles. I’m not sure I’ve balanced the kids’ Christmas gifts, it gives me a headache to try to figure it out. Like a math problem from high school. I’m so far behind on thank you notes. That I’ve been writing since October. Every day I remember someone else I haven’t sent a Christmas letter to. The house hasn’t been clean since I spent last Friday making it look like a Bed and Breakfast. Especially when people come to visit spontaneously in the evening. It’s not till after they leave that I notice what it must’ve looked like from their vantage point. But it’s alive. There are projects on every flat surface. My kitchen counters are mostly full. Most of the time. Andrew’s knife sketches are scattered on the desk. The oven’s on for hours with no one home and nothing in it. His steel blades showing up in the most random spots. My mom thrills with each new coupon and good deal she comes across at the mall, she has more stamina for shopping than anyone I’ve ever, ever met. And she is so generous. My sister and 16 year-old served me by vacuuming the cars and folding the laundry this afternoon. My 13 year-old cleaned up the trash our dog scattered all over the kitchen. My sister reminds me in small ways that simple service matters. How putting away someone’s cart makes an impact. My mom cleaned all the living room blinds for me. And always seems to be doing the dishes. All five kids are watching Home Alone 2 together, the first in their line-up of old holiday classics, a slumber party of sorts. We’ve had the fireplace going, making it warm and cozy with our tiny lights against the darkened house. We’ve made bread and granola, brownies and pretzels. We’ve visited with friends and traveled back in time thanks to old Christmas favorites on Pandora. We let our 13 year-old skip school to go shopping and to lunch with us. I’ve squeezed in Christmas stories during breakfast and when I can get my 9 year-old to sit on the couch with me at night.
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