Dear Santa

First you tell Dad what to write:



Then you proofread, and add some color:



And maybe add a train at the bottom, while the Mamarazzi covets your eyelashes:


Mail to the North Pole, and wait a week.

Then, if you're lucky, you get a letter BACK from Santa, and you read it with Dad!

Give Presence

Holiday Traditions.

Growing up, I spent 2 weeks each December with family in Arizona. I remember foggy early mornings and delayed flights. Cactus covered in blinking lights. Being greeted by happy dogs, and the many smells of the ranch: dirt, citrus trees, and a bucket of KFC in the kitchen the night we flew in. Warm hugs from family. Grandma's tree awaiting us, heavy with ornaments, half of which she made by hand. I remember trying to sleep on Christmas Eve and being WAY too excited.

In thinking over and listing traditions, there are things I have done, or want to do:

• Drive around & look at lights
• Involve Monkey with the activities: baking, house/tree decoration, gingerbread house
• The Soundtrack of the Holidays - load up the iPod around Thanksgiving
• Meals and time with family
• Watching holiday specials from my childhood (ABC Family is rockin' the old-school Christmas shows, friends.)
• Church events (Swedish Smorgasbord, Christmas Eve service)
• Special pillowcase(s) for the season
• New pajamas on Christmas Eve
• Discuss why we celebrate Christmas

But there are some traditions I'd rather break:

• stress, hustle & bustle, irritation
• giving gifts more out of obligation than with thoughtful joy
• perfectionism; the need to have things 'just so'

Yesterday I heard myself say with thinly-veiled frustration to Monkey, "Do you want Santa to come to your house this year?"
"Yes, mama."
"Then STOP MOVING THE ORNAMENTS!"

Does it really matter that they're all in one spot, rather than perfectly balanced? Will the guests really care? Do I? How do I get sucked in?

This morning we watched a 2 minute video in church that made me think:

Spend less. Love more. Right on.

Tech Rehearsal, Toddler Style

I am a human being. My husband is a human being. And though I am a devout believer in intelligent design and not evolution - somehow my sweetie and I managed to produce us some monkey offspring. So from now until I change my mind, my toddler boy will be referred to as "Monkey."

Monkey likes to sing and dance. He sings in a choir at church and yesterday they had their final rehearsal for the Christmas show. For the big kids, it was the tech rehearsal. For the little kids (aka monkey's choir), it was controlled chaos.

Tired of waiting for his entire group's turn to take the stage, monkey made himself at home on the steps.



Feeling comfortable there, he headed for the microphones nearby, which were set for the big kids choir. It was about 10 inches too high for him, pointed upward. But HIS choir's songs were playing in the background and by golly he was going to have his moment on THIS stage. He proceeded to shout that song at the top of his lungs, adjusting the mic to point downward at him midway through.

Did I stop him? ...uh, no. I laughed until tears streamed down, and did my best to capture the moment.

And I can hardly bear to share the details of what he did once the whole GROUP was on stage. I am quite certain our tactile little monkey had never felt crushed velvet before. Until he noticed it on the girl beside him...

Did I mention that when they lined up in a straight line on stage, to practice their 3 songs, Monkey stepped forward 3 paces to allow the rest of the kids to provide backup to his lead.

His #1 request from Santa this year... a drumset. Hmm.