1m2aSandbox

Maddie’s had several loose teeth for many months now, but after losing one tooth last year the rest have stubbornly insisted on hanging in there ad infinitum. Three or four seem to be hanging by a thread, but have hung there, waving in the wind and taunting us, seemingly untouchable.

It’s gotten so that Maddie has trouble eating most foods; if we get her a taco I have to tear it up into tiny bits because biting into anything is too painful. Maddie occasionally takes a stab at trying to pull one, but for the most part suffers along in relative silence.

Until Wednesday night.

I am a creature of habit. I delight in things being the same; I find comfort in knowing what’s coming up next, in wrapping familiarity around myself in a new situation. I know this is not unique to me, but it is somewhat unique for someone who spent most of her pre-kids life living the life of a gypsy, moving from town to town and show to show.

And I loved moving on as much as I loved my traditions: moving on always afforded me a fresh start, both literally – if you move every six weeks, you never need to deep-clean your apartment – and figuratively – get in a fight with your neighbor? Wait a few weeks, then put them in your rear-view mirror and don’t look back!

But one thing that moving around a lot forced me to do was take a long hard look at my “traditions” – the supposed deal-breakers I needed for any major holiday or celebration. I remember well the first Easter I was away from my family: I was nineteen, and when I walked into the theatre the Friday before and a well-meaning Jewish friend called out cheerily, “Happy Good Friday!” I burst into tears.

Sunday night Cora came downstairs after bedtime complaining, “Mommy, I can’t get to sleep!”

I was expecting this a bit; after a week off school, Cora’s mornings weren’t starting quite so early any more, and Sunday morning she’d slept until I woke her up at 9 a.m. to go to church. So I wasn’t surprised that at 7:30 p.m., her school-night bedtime, she wasn’t quite sleepy.

“Head on back upstairs and I’ll be up in a minute to give you another snuggle,” I said, sending her on her way. Often the girls will need one last cuddle from me, and when they hear they’ll get it they relax so much in their beds they fall asleep. Cora scampered happily up the stairs and I delayed following her for fifteen minutes while I finished watching my recorded show.

When I finally made it to Cora’s room, she was so silent I felt sure she’d fallen asleep. I slid into her bed and snuggled smugly against her, breathing in her baby-ness that I can still faintly smell.

Every year Christmas seems to get here sooner, and my lists seem to get longer: my to-do list, my shopping list, my list of gift recipients, are joined this year by my list of Things to Do for the School Winter Party list, to name just one. The holidays start sooner, but are on us before we know it.

And I am in quite a dilemma every year: one of my love languages is Gifts, so Christmas for me is license to give a ton of gifts to people without seeming over the top or excessive. On the other hand, I’m uncomfortable with what Christmas has become around here, and I keep wanting to dig down through the wrapping paper and tinsel and myriad of children’s shows about Christmas that spend an entire half-hour celebrating Christmas without once mentioning Jesus, and find the heart of Christmas again.