Christmas is not about kids, but I will admit that having a child has enriched my experience of the season. It seems odd to say this now, considering it’s my fourth Christmases as a parent. But, although little ones may like pretty lights and enjoy ripping packages (down with gift bags!), they don’t grow into the anticipation for several years.
For the last two days, Alex has been dragging a purple knit slipper/stocking around the house, full of shape sorter blocks and matchbox cars, and telling us he is Santa Claus. Before lunch, he demanded that I write him a letter. I was painting gingerbread ornaments, so I put him off till after nap. After nap, I managed to put him off while we applied glitter, glue and sequins to the ornaments. But at last he walked up to me holding Julianna’s Doodle pro. “Mommy, here,” he said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “Write me a letter!”
Well, OK, then. I scribbled a “letter” and put it, as per his instructions, in front of the fireplace. When we wrote his Santa letter last week, it was snowing, and Christian told him that meant Santa could collect the letter from the chimney. I think the urgency yesterday was because in the aftermath of a minor ice storm, everything looks like it’s covered with snow.
At any rate, I put the letter in its appropriate place and returned to the ornaments, followed by making dinner. Along about 5:10 p.m., Santa decided it was time to make his delivery. But I wasn’t allowed to “sleep” in the kitchen while I worked on dinner. I had to lie down—only not on the couch, because he was going to come quietly through the house, and it wouldn’t be quiet if I was snoring. He told me to go in the office and lie on the green area rug. At 6 months pregnant I just couldn’t stomach the thought of lying on the floor and having to struggle back to my feet. So I promised I wouldn’t snore.
Alex accepted the compromise, and I went to “sleep” on he little couch while he worked. Julianna thought this was very interesting. She cruised along the couch and began to bat at my face. Alex came and took her away twice. (Yes, he can carry her. Can, and does. Frequently.) “Julianna, leave Mommy alone! She has to stay asleep!” (You can see that all the elements of the Santa mystique are firmly in place.)
I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be ensconced on the couch until I grew cobwebs when Alex finally whispered, “Okay, Mommy, wake up!” He had two neat rows of blocks and cars laid out on the floor for me, and he was more excited about this game than he was last year when he found his train set laid out on Christmas morning. It was very cute.
In my last post, I mentioned that Friday evening we helped sort food and gifts as part of our parish “Giving Tree” program. Alex was game for sorting food and putting together grocery bags, but he really lit up when we began pulling gifts out of the closet and placing them in the appropriate places in the parish hall. He was so excited that he wouldn’t wait his turn in line. He kept rushing into the closet, where Christian was working, and emerging with gifts. We were half delighted and half ashamed. How do you scold such enthusiasm—yet how can you not scold butting in line? Watching his joy in the experience tugged at my heartstrings.
This is also the season in which his religious understanding has taken off. It took months to teach him the Our Father. We were just beginning to go line by line through the table blessing when suddenly he started shouting (he shouts everything) bits and pieces of the Hail Mary—which he’s only heard when we pray with the choir before Mass. Within a week he knew that and the table blessing in its entirety. At bedtime, he latched on to my suggestion that he thank God for something. Last night, it was “for taking our sins away.”
Where is Miss Julianna in all this? Learning to walk, and banging pots and pans around, mostly. When Alex was her age I let him have a cupboard full of Tupperware. She, however, found the cabinet with the stainless steel bowls. Hurrah.
Julianna’s enjoyment of the season—so far—consists of her staring at the tree. She hasn’t tried to touch it yet, but the tree’s only been up for 48 hours, so I’m sure it’s coming. In the meantime, she’s mesmerized.
I struggle to know how much she actually is capable of understanding. I don’t want to deny her the richness of the season, but in reality I’m more concerned about the day-to-day practical understanding. Teaching her not to throw food. To stay in bed and stop hollering. To use the toilet. When you have a child with special needs, everything takes longer, and the danger is that you get into the habit of treating her as if she’s younger than she really is. She is old enough to be disciplined, to learn appropriate and inappropriate behaviors—but because it took nearly two years to reach this point, we’ve gotten into the habit of putting up with things we didn’t tolerate in Alex. Now the parental mechanisms are beginning to grind, but it’s slow going. We remember how this went with Alex. J
But I digress, and this post is getting long. I think I’ll just sign off.
Kathleen M. Basi 