I. Hate. Waiting.

I had this blinding revelation a couple of days ago: I loathe waiting. Waiting in lines, waiting in doctors’ offices, waiting for people who are habitually late, waiting for a check, waiting for my star to ignite.

I keep paper and a pen in my coat pocket so if I get stuck in line at Aldi, I can brainstorm songs or problem solve plot and character motivation. (Although it mostly just lives there, because lately I’m doing all my grocery shopping with a preschooler, and when a preschooler is crawling under the cart and running up and down the aisles pretending to be Superman, you just can’t retreat into your head. Recently I went to a consignment store and tried on some clothes, and the clerk asked me if I wanted the big room so I could bring Michael in with me, or if I wanted him to wait outside. She thought he might run off if he stayed outside. I said, “I’m more worried about your store.” But I digress.) I take my computer almost everywhere, because I live in dread of having to wait fifteen minutes with nothing at all to do. Because, you know, no smart phone. Besides, writing is a much better use of time.

But this year in particular, waiting is really sticking in my craw. Which is ironic, given that I wrote a whole book about how great an experience the waiting associated with Advent can be. And also ironic, given that I consider self-discipline and delayed self-gratification some of my strongest personality traits.

I don’t like feeling helpless. I don’t like wondering why, when I work so hard, certain goals seem so very elusive. I don’t like frustration—and there is a lot of frustration in waiting. Especially open-ended waiting. The kind experienced by writers in the querying process, for instance. And oh, the second-guessing. The reading into the silence. The internal conflict when your friends’ numbers come up and they get called out of this purgatory, and you’re still stuck here.

I try to pray my way through it, to see it as an answer to a different prayer—“Lord, help me to be humble.” Because waiting definitely humbles a soul. It’s a reminder that an awful lot of things are completely outside my control. That truism about “work as if it all depends on you, but pray as if it all depends on God” got its popularity fair and square.

I try to be philosophical, in other words—but sometimes it’s so hard. I keep thinking, as hard as I work, certain things should have happened by now—unless I’m doing something wrong. And then I wrap myself in knots, trying to figure out what that “something” is.

There is no solution to this conundrum. Sometimes you really have no choice but to wait…and wait…and wait. Sometimes I am able to be reasonably peaceful about it. More often, my brain clings fast to the frustration and gnaws on it in the background of everything I’m doing. But I can at least appreciate, if not always find comfort, in seeing the spiritual connection between my ordinary life and the spiritual season I’m walking through, as we embark upon this second week of Advent.

Of Christmas Decs, My Witty Husband, and Impossible Christmas Lists

My husband likes white lights. I grew up turning up my nose at white lights and in love with the gingerbread house look, but for the first sixteen Christmases, he prevailed. This year, though, the kids asked for colors, and he gave in.

house-lights

As close as you’re going to get to a gingerbread house with a roof pitch this steep and a 3-story drop in the back.

Christian rethought our entire schematic for Christmas decorations this year. After all, things are very different in our house this Christmas. Not just colored lights. For the first time in almost ten years, we are using our gas fireplace. For most of those years, the gas valve has been shut off and the vents stuffed with as many plastic shopping and trash bags as we could possibly stuff in, a (failed) attempt to block the draft. Why did we have to go through this? Because some genius builder thought it would be a good idea to put the on-off switch 2 1/2 feet off the floor —at eye level for little ones with an obsession with flipping switches. (Do builders not have kids? Sometimes, looking around this house, I just have to wonder.)

Michael Mayhem turns 5 this week, so we decided to pull the fireplace out of mothballs. But of course, this means there are hot spots in the living room now, so Christian re-envisioned our entire Christmas setup, and came up with a way to use a few of the baubles we’ve accumulated over the years.

baubles

Simple as it is, when he was finished, it stopped me in my tracks. I stared at it and went, “Wow, honey…that looks…really, really good.”

“I can do these things,” he said modestly.

“It would…not have looked that good if I’d done it,” I said.

Christian rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said. “That’s why our house looks the way it does.”

I threw up my hands. “But you know what?” I said. “I may not be artistic with a house, but darn it, I CAN COOK!”

We’re feeling anxious to finish up the Christmas shopping, so we had the kids write letters to Santa tonight. Christian’s reaction:

santa-letters

Then, of course, there was Julianna’s letter:

julianna-letter

In case you didn’t catch that, she wants a trampoline, a snowman (a real one; I asked), to learn to do a star gazer spin (it took a while to pry this explanation out of her), and snow. As in, white stuff falling from the sky.

Envision Santa beating her head on the computer desk right now. Santa’s feeling grateful that all evidence to the contrary, Miss Julianna actually isn’t all that picky, and that she will love, love, loves boots with fringes. Because that whole snow thing? Santa’s magic ain’t that good, folks.

Later this week I’m going to share some really good games for Family Game Night that we’ve discovered in the past year. Stay tuned!

When Advent Is Not Peaceful

Photo by DonkeyHotey, via Flickr

We are approaching the midpoint of a season meant to focus on peace and preparation, yet the moment my children get in the van in the school pickup line, they are at each other’s throats. I lose my temper quickly these days, thanks in part to cyclic hormones, in part to the busy-ness of the season, in which every single day brings another note or email from one school, class, or room mother asking for more X, Y, or Z, and in part to flying down the hall five or six times a night to soothe the preschooler for whom a cold signifies the eternal annihilation of all mortal existence.

The news greets me every morning and every hour on the hour with news of how much we proved ourselves not to be “the good guys” in the way we treated our prisoners, with news of protests and violence and name-calling on both sides of every issue, of further proof that none of us, myself or anyone else, is sufficiently well-informed to be certain that our opinion on the issues at hand is undisputably and irrevocably “right”…although we all treat them as if they are. My Facebook feed fills up with tirades and rhetoric that denies all possible rational disagreement. People go on national TV and call others “stupid,” and elected officials return the favor with pleasure.

And it feels to me that this Advent, no one is even making an effort to pull back, to breathe, to seek the cool breath of the Spirit that could guide us through this mine field of real problems. We have this bizarre parallel existence going on: the one filled with shopping lists and office/school parties and the one in which we edit our intake of the news in order to confirm what we already believe–to ensure that we will never, ever have to consider that the other side might have a rational argument, too.

I have no pithy wisdom to wrap up this litany. If I say I grieve over it, I sound holier-than-thou, and it’s eminently clear to me from my own short fuse that while I stay out of the public debates, I am as culpable as anyone else.

I suppose, then, that this is my call into the darkness, a call for self-examination, and for change. For conversion, as we ostensibly prepare for the coming of God made human.

Late Advent In Pictures

: No snow, but plenty of ice.

: Fruit and yogurt parfait from our “fancy dinner,” consolation prize from being weathered out of our big trip

: Dec. 23: Family singalong. “Daddy,” Nicholas asks, “is piano playing a sport?”

: Christian looks at Michael and jokes, “Full contact tackle piano playing.” (With tiara.)

: Yup. Piano playing IS a sport.

7QT for the Second Week of Advent

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I spent almost three minutes sitting in front of a blank screen just now, trying to figure out what to write this morning. I’ve been tired and anxious this week, focused on all the wrong things. Life is really pretty good, but when there’s uncertainty about something you’ve poured yourself into it’s easy for your whole emotional state to revolve around that to the exclusion of all other things.

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All other things, such as: We’ve had a very good first half of Advent. (If you’re a regular reader, that was probably already clear.) This week was probably the peak of the excitement, what with Trans Siberian Orchestra and Christmas tree and Santa visit and ringing the Salvation Army bell. It was also the peak of the fatigue for all of us…at least I hope! The kids were up late three school nights in a row this week.

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Nicholas in particular had been reacting very well to Advent. Quite suddenly one day late last week, the head-butting between the two of us eased. I knew we’d had one amazingly good day, in which he was delightful and cooperative, but it didn’t totally process until the next morning while he was helping me make eggs. Michael did something that earned a parental snap, and when I turned around Nicholas had done something with the breakfast that needed redirection–I don’t remember now what it was. There was an edge to my voice as I did so, and I had a pang of conscience, because I knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. So I took a deep breath and put my arm around him and said, “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I was just frustrated with Michael. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His face broke into a radiant smile and he laughed giddily. “I thought I was in trouble,” he said, leaning into my hug. It was a very enlightening moment, to say the least.

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Lost : Devil Horns (Photo credit: beefy_n1)

Nicholas’ angelic behavior continued for three or four days. I was beginning to hold my breath that we might have crossed out of that preschool testing stage and into full upper-childhood. But we had a bad regression yesterday evening. It involved me telling him no, you may not have a THIRD snack between lunch and dinner, and him hitting me on the head. Yes, I did say hitting me on the head. I’m going to hope and pray that was an aberration based on not enough sleep this week. Last night we had our normal routine. We should be past the late nights now.

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I’m trying very hard not to write about writing, but it is weighing heavily on my mind. I have sent three queries on my novel to test the waters, and the first two came back unsuccessful. It’s not enough to know that something is wrong with the submission package, but the mind goes there anyway. I’ve spent a lot of emotional energy the last two weeks fretting about whether I need more feedback, more input, more opinions, so I don’t burn through agents.

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I set a goal this year not to have any deadlines during Advent. This is our sixth year doing Advent calendar activities, and I’ve learned that it’s better not to have extra “must do”‘s. The season has enough of those already; organizing them was the point of the calendar in the first place. But factors outside my control intervened. I have two projects due around the holidays: Liguori asked me to write an examination of conscience booklet for children, which I just sent off yesterday. The other project is still underway. I hope to finish before the kids get out of school next week.

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I am tremendously grateful to my aunt, who asked me if she could keep Michael with her a couple mornings a week while everyone else is at school. That unexpected help has allowed me to have a few really focused mornings of work. It’s made a huge difference! That examination of conscience wouldn’t be finished without her. I will say it is really weird to have no one in the house at all. Might have to explore that topic at a later date.

Happy Third Advent!

Ringing Bells and Taking Pride

The last few days of Advent have been big activities, beginning with getting the tree on Saturday and progressing through a choir party, a tribute concert to the Trans Siberian Orchestra (think head banging with laser show…the kids were mesmerized) and, on Monday of this week, ringing the Salvation Army bell.

Ringing the bell has been on my list of service activities for a long time, but this is the first year I thought we were ready to do it. As I scheduled it I crossed my fingers for good weather. I didn’t win that one. It was below 20 degrees outside that night. But we put the kids in their snow pants, and I had invested in forty-five dollars’ worth of hats and gloves the week before in preparation for the cold snap. And we sang Christmas carols while we rang.

(And they marched in circles in front of the door. Not getting past this bunch without acknowledging them.)

Plus, we were at Bass Pro, and Santa has a workshop there, so we took turns outside and the kids spent some time enjoying the freebies inside.

I’m proud of my kids this year. Nicholas needs a post of his own, but for now I’ll just share this: Monday night during his turn outside, Christian said Nicholas sang carols any time someone was walking up or leaving. “As long as he was singing people were putting money in the pot,” Christian said. “When it was just me by myself, they walked on by, but when he was there, they gave. That kid’s a born salesman.”

He’s not the only one to make me proud. On Sunday, Christian came up short of cash while trying to pay someone back for popcorn. Why? Because the day before, Alex made him give money to a homeless man standing at the highway intersection.

It makes me feel like we’re doing something right.

Michael Meets Advent

By the time the fourth child passes milestones, they often slip past without much fanfare. Not that they don’t get noticed at all, but it is a little more muted.

Still, in the first nine days of Advent it’s been fun to watch Michael really connect with this season for the first time. I realized that the concentration of spring birthdays in our household means my other children have been pushing three before they had their first real Advent experience. So with Michael I’m seeing Advent in a whole new way.

First, a portrait of Michael. He wants to do everything, and he gets very bent out of shape if he’s passed over. He’s beginning, finally, to attempt to talk a little bit. Not spontaneous words, but increasing willingness to repeat (or attempt to repeat) words. Some spontaneous signing. He’s also toilet trained, as long as you don’t put any clothes on his lower half–even to the point where he’ll tell me he needs to go. I’ve never toilet trained in the dead of winter and it makes me wince, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. I’ve targeted the week after Christmas for knuckling down and making the transition to toilet-trained-while-clothed. And he’s singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” sans words, with enough pitch/rhythm accuracy that we can identify it. (“Is that normal for a two year old?” Christian asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s not one of those skills they put on developmental charts.”)

Lately people who know Michael’s propensity for destruction through exploration have been pointing me to that U. of Iowa study about messy kids being smarter. It was really about babies smashing food, but it sounds good, and I made the leap as quickly as everyone else. The kid is impossible to keep out of anything: the iPad, the Advent calendar, the refrigerator, the pantry where the graham crackers are kept (on the up side, since he can get into anything now, maybe I can move them back to their old location on the lazy susan and free up that pantry space at last). You can see the intelligence in his eyes, just before he pounces. He’s a whirlwind, into everything. He knows how to turn on the computer speaking voice from the “unlock” screen,” and twice we’ve caught him almost purchasing something from iTunes via the iPad. The difference between him and Julianna, who has always, from age two to age almost-seven, been content to sit quietly and rifle through books and cards, is quite profound. She just never did get into things the way he does.

So it’s been really, really fun to watch him make Advent connections. I kept him (and Julianna) home while Christian took the big boys to get the Christmas tree on Saturday, because it was just so brutally cold. But when it was finally time to put ornaments on, he was so excited. He had to do it himself, and he had to point every one of them out to me afterward. Making cookies was Heaven. I get to measure spices, snitch batter, AND spread icing and sprinkles? And last night, when we bundled up and rang the Salvation Army Bell at Bass Pro, he was the cutest thing, walking up to people and ringing the bell at them, grunting for attention.

I’ve enjoyed every Advent since we started using Advent calendar activities to keep us organized and able to make time for service in December, but it’s different this year. I thought it was because I’d finally mastered the appropriate balance of activities, and I’m sure that’s part of it, but I think it has at least as much to do with watching Michael process it all for the first time.

Kathleen M. Basi

Author/Composer

Advent