Gardner Family Christmas

Sunday was the day of the annual Gardner Family Christmas. Justin's dad is one of six siblings, and each year the siblings rotate who hosts a family Christmas. The siblings and their children (and now grandchildren) are all invited to crowd into someones house and eat way more food than is good for them.

Justin and I have missed lots of these celebrations. When we lived away from middle Tennessee, we never made the celebration, always held the Sunday before Christmas. We only had limited time off, and always wanted to spend what little time we had off for Christmas itself.

This year the celebration was held at Uncle Larry's house. His wife has a small home daycare, and their house was ideally suited for hosting. For once there was room for everyone. Also, there were lots of toys for the kids to play with.

One of the highlights of the occasion, for me, was watching Ellie partake in the ritual Christmas cookies. Justin's aunt Trudie is known for her special Christmas cookies she makes every year for the "kids." They are frosted sugar cookie Christmas trees, frosted with green and decorated with M&Ms. I think there would be a riot if Aunt Trudie did not bring her cookies. Even my husband, who has prided himself on being an adult for years, will decide he is a child (who the cookies are designated for) and have one.

Ellie had her first Aunt Trudie this year. Of course, with her sweet tooth, she loved it. And watching her make a mess of herself was heartwarming. It gave me a sense of community to watch my girl join in this tradition. I love knowing she took part in something that has been going on for several decades now. I also loved watching her play with her second cousin Will. He is two, and lives in South Carolina, so we do not see him often. But it gave a sense of continuity to watch my kids play with him, knowing my husband played with their mother when they were kids.

This type of family celebration is the reason I am glad we moved closer to family. It is nice to gather with those relatives you only see once a year or so, even the ones you have to watch out to make sure they don't pants you (I'm looking at you Uncle Herschel). It is nice to sit back and pick out resemblances, to hear stories of your sweetheart when he was young, to watch the uncles try to get the newly turned adult to unthinkingly drink spiked eggnog. So today I am thankful for extended family and traditions.

Christmas Songs

Today my sweet grandmother would have turned 97 years old. Thinking of this anniversary of her birth and all my wonderful memories of her has led me to thinking of other happy, positive things. Due to the mysterious alchemy of brain chemistry, my memories turned to thoughts of my favorite childhood Christmas songs.

The absolute top favorite Christmas record (yes record, not cassette or 8 track, but real, live records) was the Chipmunk Christmas album. I was given this when I was five, and it was instant love. I played that thing incessantly on my parent's turntable. I firmly believe my love affair with Simon (so nerdy and such cute glasses!) and this album directly led to me receiving my own small turntable when I was six. Then I played that album almost daily through January, singing along. My parents hung on to that record for a long time. By the time I was in high school, my parents had overcome their aversion to the album (or they enjoyed watching my roll my eyes to the album I had once loved) and insisted it wasn't Christmas without playing it at least once. I miss our old turntable for that album (and my Sound of Music album) more than anything.

Another favorite Christmas record from this time was an Elvis Christmas album I believe I inherited from my parents. I would play "Blue Christmas" for seemingly hours on end, lost in the music. I think I put myself into some sort of zen, Elvisy trance, sitting on the floor, staring at the spinning turntable and becoming on with the album.

I was also a hug fan of Anne Murray as a kid. I am not quite sure how that happened. The first concert I ever saw was Anne Murray (how I wish I could say it was something cool like Vanilla Ice or Aerosmith). I had the Anne Murray Christmas cassette (I had graduated to a cassette player by then). I loved "Christmas in Killarney" and played that song repeatedly. I would play it, sing along, then rewind, spending 10 minutes trying to get to the exact beginning of the song, and then begin the process all over again. I still even know some of the words ("The holly green/the ivy green/the prettiest green you've ever seen/It's Christmas in Killarney and all of the folks at home...It's nice to know you can kiss you beau while standing beneath the mistletoe/I handing you no blarney...").

And so, as we enter this last week before Christmas, I am going to try to track these songs down so I can play them for my kids. There is nothing like singing at the top of your lungs to your favorite songs in front of your kids. The best part is that I will be adding new memories to my fond remembrances of these songs.

Cookies with Santa

Hardy's preschool has a lovely tradition for the last day of "school" before Christmas break. They have Santa come to school and sit in the parlor. Everyone brings one dozen cookies. We go line up in the gym, eat cookies, and meet and have a photo taken with Santa. It's a nice way to squeeze in a trip to visit Santa without the hassle of going to the mall to meet Santa. My children have yet to realize that Santa comes to malls, and I hope they never find out.

We valiantly tried to minimize Santa in our early parenting days. Not totally disregard Santa, just not have the big guy be the main focus of Christmas. We were fairly successful in this effort until Hardy started preschool. Kids talk, and he knew the lowdown on Santa within weeks (it seemed) of starting preschool. Hardy has since decided there must be more than one Santa since he visits so many children; he's also decided Santa must share his cookies with Mrs. Claus since he gets so many.

The first year Hardy met Santa, he gamely sat on his lap, but refused to talk to Santa. His picture that year shows him leaning as far away from Santa as he can. That is my budding little misanthrope.

Last year, Hardy was three and was ready for Santa. He sat on his lap, and managed to talk to him too. He wouldn't say what he wanted, but Santa did finally worm out of him that he wanted a leaf blower. Hardy did receive the leaf blower, which I think he has played with 3 times. I think he may have been disappointed that it was not a real leaf blower like his dad has.



This year was the first year I was going to let Ellie experience Santa. She's almost 18 months now, and is enthralled by the spectacle of Christmas. She loves the lights and decorations, and she particularly likes grooving to Christmas music. Also, Hardy has been telling her all about Santa for weeks now (he loves to "teach" or "profess" as he sometimes says).

When Santa arrived, we could see him in the other room. The first reactions were hopeful. Hardy was thrilled, and Ellie laughed and smiled at Santa. She seemed enthralled until we crossed the threshold of the parlor.

Once we arrived in Santa's lair, Ellie decided that Santa was no friend of hers. So like any good mom, I plopped her down on his lap, beside Hardy. Ellie was not happy, and made her displeasure known. I have great pics of her screaming on Santa's lap. I feel as if we have endured a rite of passage - the obligatory photo with Santa, complete with crying child. What else says Christmas cheer than a photo of your kid, crying, mad at the world, and wondering who the heck this big guy is and why is Mommy letting him hold her?




Luckily, the cookies made Ellie decide to forgive me, and she left Hardy's preschool full of good cheer once more. In addition to the cookies, the kids had the opportunity to run and screech like banshees in the gym after they had finished eating. I contemplated pretending they weren't my children as I visited with other parents, but I knew that would never work. People had seen me with the kids, there was no way I could pretend they belonged to someone else.



Between terrorizing my youngest today with Santa and the screaming banshee impression they indulged in, I am feeling like a finalist in the "Best Mommy" contest. Hopefully Santa didn't see this and put me on the naughty list.

Live Camels, Oh My!

Justin had a meeting to go to yesterday afternoon, so I thought it would be a great idea to take to the kids to Bethlehem Marketplace while he was gone. Bethlehem Marketplace is a reenactment of Bethlehem at the time of the birth of Jesus put on one weekend a year by a local Baptist church. They have live camels, sheep and donkeys. Best of all, it is less than a mile from my house, so it seemed like a great idea.

I started out on our trip with a bit of trepidation. Ellie had awakened early from her nap, and was in a dreadful mood. Looking at her made her cry, and she only wanted her dad, not me. It was the type of meltdown that would make a single person decide never to have children in their life. However, once we got there and I got her in the stroller, she cheered up a bit. Actually, by that point she was resigned, but I took that as a bit of cheer.

After a bit of a wait (this thing apparently draws in 6000 visitors), we enter the tented areas. It was a bit unreal. It was like being suddenly thrust into the middle of a theater camp exercise. There are people in costume, roaming around, yelling and trying to sell their wares. There are men dressed up as Roman soldiers, patrolling the "streets" and occasionally arresting someone. Hardy seemed to believe they were actually soldiers, and was a bit afraid that they would arrest us. I didn't want to destroy the illusion, so I allowed him to have this fantasy.

We came to the camels, and Hardy decided two things. He decided camels stink and that camels are scary. And he wants no part of the camels. He won't go near them, doesn't want to hear about them, doesn't even want to look at them. I end up having to stand between him and the camel. I decide at this juncture that we need to get through the rest of Bethlehem and get back home before the kids lose it.

We end up in the stable with the animals and baby Jesus. This tent has live sheep, goats and donkeys. They even allow you to pet the animals. We walk through the first time and again, Hardy decides that live animals are not his thing. He won't look at them. He does look at baby Jesus, which is a real sleeping baby, oblivious to the chaos around him. I wish my babies had had that type of sleeping ability!

At this point, Ellie wants out of the stroller and wants to touch the animals. I get her out, telling Hardy he can stand by the stroller while I walk 5 feet away so Ellie can get her animal fix. (Her feelings about animals are as opposite of Hardy's as one can get). This terrifies Hardy, who runs up to me. At this point he is in a tough spot. He is terrified of the animals, and terrified of me being near the animals.

At this point, Hardy utters the phrase that makes me pause. He says, "I'm sorry, Mommy. Sometimes I am not very brave." My heart turns over at this. He is apologizing to me for not meeting my expectations. I can't allow this to go unnoticed. So I bend down, give him a big hug, and tell him, "You don't have to be brave. You just have to be yourself." He smiled at me and we wrestled Ellie away from the sheep (she was baaing at it and probably plotting how to fit it in her stroller). We leave Bethlehem, and head back to the house.

His statement has had me thinking since then. I have always striven to show my son that bravery is important. He is brave for his shots, never crying and always remarking on his own bravery. But somewhere in the process I fear he has learned that bravery is the most important thing. While I do believe that bravery is important, I also need to show Hardy that being brave is hard sometimes. Even as adults we aren't always brave. There have been times when I have ducked conversations out of cowardice, not being brave enough to have the difficult discussion, no matter the consequence. What I think I need to teach Hardy about bravery is that we are not always brave, but that we should always be ourselves. If we are embrace who we are, we might find it a bit easier to be brave.

School Tour

Today was a big day in the Gardner household. Today I took Hardy for a school tour of a potential school. It's Discovery School, a pretty nice magnet school here in Murfreesboro.

To be honest, I have no way of knowing if Hardy is magnet school material. He's my baby, so of course I think he is brilliant. But I am self-aware and know that the world in general, particularly academic administrators, may not agree with me. But I see no harm in having him tested and seeing what becomes of it. If he does not meet the criteria I will not be curling up into the fetal position.

The school seemed marvelous, but I don't think you can ever know how great a school is until your child is attending the school. Some marvelous schools have lousy teachers, and some great teachers may not have the right chemistry with your child. I was impressed that there is an art studio there, and that all kids go and have art classes there. The school also boasts a science laboratory (that made a humanities loving person such as myself want to do experiments) and a band room (for the older kids). They offer theater classes and Chinese (how cool is that!) lessons. There are also enrichment classes every kid can take on Wednesday afternoons. Best yet, the tour was conducted by student ambassadors, so we had a chance to see the school from their perspective. It was a wonderful experience.



While walking through the school, I kept wondering where all the time had gone. I know it is cliche, but I really feel I just brought Hardy home from the hospital. I can't believe he is now 4 1/2 and we are planning for kindergarten (which would start in July if he gets into this school). Seeing him in this academic setting made me see my boy with fresh eyes. He's not my baby anymore - he's a child who's ready for kindergarten. He's even already planning which backpack he should take, and what he will pack.



Watching him begin to reach out for the experiences that will ultimately take him away from me fills me with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I am proud that he is ready to go and start a new adventure. He thinks kindergarten (and being a big kid) is going to be great, filled with lots of fun things (of course, this is the attitude I am trying to foster with him). I feel maybe we are not doing too bad if he feels secure enough to separate himself, to start the process of being his own person. The other emotion I feel is pain. It hurts to know that the time is coming when I won't be the most important person in his life. That he is about to begin facing things that I cannot help him with. That he may be subject to, or see, bullying (which mercifully has not occurred yet). That he is going to encounter kids who do not like him and who will never like him. That he may encounter children who tease him or pick on him or in other ways try to make him miserable.

I want to be there like the mama lion, standing between him and those who would harm him. However, I know that in the long run this does Hardy no favors. If he is going to learn to be an adult in this life, he has to learn to deal with people, even difficult, icky people. He will have to learn to cope and to find inner strength. In short, he will begin to develop his character. I know that it won't be only the potentially bad experiences that help him develop character. But it seems to be the bad experiences that we label as character building. I don't recall anyone ever telling me that making good grades was good for my character.



So today I saw the beginning of a new era. I saw my son make tentative first steps to becoming a big kid. Part of me is in shock that he has managed to survive our parenting for so long, while the other part of me is proud of the little kid he has turned out to be. I think I saw in the tour the beginnings of the next chapter of his life, and I can't wait to see what this chapter brings.

Christmas Traditions

I have always loved Christmas and all the traditions surrounding the holiday. Even the year that my dad had open heart surgery a few days before Christmas was a meaningful one in that it was my first white Christmas. It was also spent with my mom's family, some of the most generous and loving people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

Once I had kids, Christmas took on more meaning. I remember Hardy's first Christmas I would get teary-eyed at Christmas songs that mention the baby Jesus. Having a baby, I could more clearly visualize the sweet bundle of wonder and joy the baby Jesus was. As Hardy has gotten older and has been joined by a sister, I find myself creating traditions for our family that I hope will endure.

One tradition we have is the daily lighting of the advent candles and reading advent-related scriptures together as a family. I am not sure how much of the verses the kids are taking in, but there is a sweetness in those few minutes we spend in this activity. This year we have added to it by making an advent chain. Each link has one of the scriptures we read that day, and we add to the paper chain daily.

One tradition I am scaling back this year is Christmas baking. I love to bake cookies for Christmas - it is hard to explain the primal feeling of rightness I get standing over a hot oven. Nothing says God's love for us like a bundle of homemade cookies. I have been known to make eight kinds of cookies and two or three kinds of candies for Christmas. Most of this I box up and give away - to our neighbors, to teachers, Justin's co-workers. I used to start weeks before Christmas, baking and freezing right up to the big day. This year I decided to scale back massively. I would rather spend the time with my kids and husband, making new memories. Also, we do not need all the sugar in the house. We have decided to massively cut down (if not downright eliminate) most sugar in the house, as the kids nor us need it.

Another tradition I have started with Hardy is making presents. I've been working with him since he was two, trying to teach him that it is thoughtful to think of others. He also loves to make things, so every year we make some kind of ornaments for him to give to his family. The ornaments are decidedly homemade looking, but I also believe in letting him do the work himself. I enjoy the quiet time with my son and the conversations we have during our creative endeavors.

One final tradition has to do with my sweet husband. Every year I try to make something sweet to slip into his stocking. Something that costs no money but lets him know how I appreciate him. Last year I made a random list of things I loved about him. I noticed he has not thrown that list away. I can't say what I plan for him this year, in case he reads this, but I hope he knows that he is loved and special when he sees it.

For me, Christmas is the time of year when I try to be more conscious of letting my loved ones know that they are loved and special. It is the time to show the love of Christ to others. A time of great expectation, when things seem possible. The tradition I hope that my family takes part is loving others.

Down in the Valley

Life can have a way of walloping you with lots of hard stuff all at one time. The Gardner household has had a black cloud over it for the last few days, and so I am down in the valley, so to speak. Down so low that it can only go up from here.

The first thing to happen was that our car, my lovable station wagon, decided to stop working as I was getting in it to go to lunch with Mommy friends. The problem is probably an ignition lock problem (not sure, I am not fluent in car, and my car to wife translator is in bed sleeping). The problem has been intermittent, and to make matters worse, we have tried to fix it before. However, our mechanic "forgot" to take a look at that problem (which is why he is no longer our mechanic), and so we are at our current impasse. So I missed my lunch with my wonderful Mommy friends, who help keep me sane in an otherwise crazy world. Luckily my sweet husband rushed home for two reasons: (1) to verify I was not crazy and that the car would not start; and (2) to let me use his car. Luckily we have a second car and live close to campus so taking my sweetie to work is no hardship.

The second thing is the general, all to common to most women, malaise of the bad body day. I look back to myself in my mid-twenties, when I was my smallest and most fit. At the time I was filled with self-loathing, magnifying the flaws and focusing on the worst attributes. Today I would run down people to be in that shape again. Nothing seems to get me past the size I am stuck at. I feel surrounded by hundreds of thin, fit mommies and feel like a whale in the midst of a guppy parade. It's time to either woman up and push through, losing the damn weight, or to accept myself as I am, flaws and all. But no more of this self-hatred; it is wicked, vicious stuff.

The last thing is the worst. Our sweet dog, the newest addition to our family, my lovable, not so bright Otis, is going back to the pound tomorrow. A culmination of events has led to this painful decision. He has escaped from our fenced backyard multiple times, both going over and under the fence. Tonight he went under the fence, while chained (dragging the chain with him) and managed to get stuck in our neighbor's yard. I'm sure we are very popular with her right now. When he is chained when I leave, he manages to get his chain tangled around something, anything, no matter what. I come home to find a whimpering mass of dog in my backyard in the midst of absolute chaos. He nipped at Hardy today, in the guise of playing. Hardy had not antagonized the dog, and Otis, trying to play, nipped at him. I can no longer trust my kids to be safe if I have to go to the bathroom, or answer the phone. Hardy, although he tries to hide it, is scared of Otis, and won't play outside unless someone is there to hold his hand if Otis is out there as well.

So I faced up to the difficult fact tonight that Otis is not the right dog for us at this time. It was hard to realize that. I already, in the short time he has been here, have fallen in love with the mongrel. He brings back good memories of playing with my boxer, Higgins, growing up. Yet I can't keep a dog that I cannot keep safe. It is not fair to him or to us. I can only pray that Otis finds the right family to love him at the pound. Preferably one without small children.

And so, here I am, sitting in the valley, where life looks overwhelming, sad, heartbreaking, and thoroughly unfair. I want nothing more than to run away, to find some isolated nook in the mountains and hide myself forever. I know that the mountaintop experiences are that much greater because of these valleys. Yet that is cold comfort tonight as I contemplate life. In my perfect world, the valleys would be less cold and lonely, more moderate.

I am able to keep some perspective in the midst of my gloom. I know that I am incredibly blessed - I have a wonderful husband, great kids, family I still like (and those I don't, but I manage to ignore them successfully), friends, intellectual stimulation. I have a roof over my head. I am not going to bed hungry tonight. There is a wine budget (woohoo!) and a cheese budget (double woohoo!). There is a shelf full of books to read. So the valley won't last forever. And I know that the only way to survive the valley is to be gracious and hopeful. But tonight, just tonight, I am going to whine a bit, and wish for things to be a bit different.

Gender Roles

One of the things I love at Christmas is buying presents for my family. I love to set my budget and begin planning on how to make a truly great Christmas with that budget. It awakens the bargain hunter within, and I begin stalking ads, looking for the perfect gift to make someone happy.

Having kids has expanded the fun exponentially. I can now buy all those cool toys that didn't exist when I was a kid, or did exist and I did not have them. Having discovered Lego's through my boy, I am amazed I was not on the Lego bandwagon as a child. Play dough is something else that is even more fun now that I have a kiddo to play with.

The quandary I have found myself in this year regarding gifts is with Ellie. She is at the age where she cannot verbalize what she would want for Christmas, and she loves whatever someone gives her in a fancy present. One would think I would be under no pressure then, that I will score a win no matter what I give my girl.

The thing is, however, is what is the hidden message that the gifts may give my children. I am contemplating giving Ellie a toy vacuum (having seen her play with one and love it). Yet the vacuum as a present bothers me on many levels. First, it seems wrong to EVER give a vacuum to a woman, regardless of age. Secondly, am I sending the message to Ellie that girls are responsible for cleaning, that it is some feminine trait? I don't want her to think that her worth is based on how clean her house is, and that she is responsible for cleaning up her house.

Before I stayed home, it was not something I worried about. My sweet husband gladly shared all the chores with me, cleaning, cooking, shopping, or kid watching with equal aplomb. He never shied away from a leaky mess, a messy kitchen, or a truly terrible diaper. My son saw (no matter how much he took in) the 2 adults in his house working as equals - both responsible for making a home.

Once I started staying home, I started doing 90% of the cooking and cleaning. It made more sense - I was home, I could do it during the day and then our weekends and evenings could be spent doing family activities. It's not that my husband stopped helping - he still changes babies, washes them, takes out the garbage, cuts the grass, helps out around the house. It is now, however, mostly me my kids see doing the laundry, the chores, the errands. That is their norm - mom does the chores.

That is not the model I want for either of my children. I want them to both know how to cook, how to clean, how to do laundry, because life does not guarantee you a spouse who will do that. Life does not guarantee anyone a partner, so it is best to know how to life independently if necessary.

If I get into grad school next year, the kids will learn a new norm. They will see Mom and Dad both leaving home to work (or study). They will see both Mom and Dad taking care of the house and cleaning. I think in the end they will be better for it.

So back to my original thought. Should I get Ellie a vacuum? If so, am I scaring the poor girl for life? Am I teaching her that her lot in life is to clean up after those around her? That if she cannot conquer the dust bunnies she is a failure somehow? (Which if that were true I would be the world's biggest failure - I am currently cultivating a truly spectacular nest of dust bunnies beneath the couch in my great room.) Or can a vacuum just be a toy and have no larger, more sinister implications? If I'm lucky, she'll ignore the thing anyway in favor of her brother's hot wheels.