Favorite

Ruby is the snuggliest kid ever. Yep, I made up a word, because it needs to exist to describe my child. Her love language is touch and she never gets enough hugs, kisses, snuggles, squeezes, or tickles. Her mornings begin and nights end with snuggles from me. In the morning, she comes flying into my room and she burrows in the warmth and blankets of my bed. She knows I am not a snuggler in the morning or anytime when I am sleepy. Her constant movement and twitching and stray curls tickling me in the face can irritate me when I am only half conscious. She knows this. So, she seeks out my hand under the covers and laces her fingers between mine and while holding hands, we doze until my alarm goes off. 

It is the sweetest thing.

Christmas wishes

Most moms, I am sure, struggle with feeling "enough." Doing enough? Engaging enough? Participating enough? Contributing enough? Experiencing enough? Enjoying enough? Providing enough? Loving enough? Disciplining enough? Really, the list—and doubt—seems endless.

I feel it especially strong during the holidays and this year I am fighting that bug like crazy. I feel like I should be making all these special memories with Ruby, but I have little time and even less energy to check off all the items on the "should" list. My actual thought the other night was "I wish I knew what was going to make Ruby's special memories as an adult, so I can focus on those things and forget everything else." Yes, that thought really crossed my brain. Talk about Christmas spirit, right?

It is difficult now because Ruby is old enough to notice. With noticing, comes some expectations and curiosity. She wonders why we do not have an elf or a chimney (how does Santa get in?). She wonders why her Christmases have to be split between two homes. I feel the need to participate in all the extras to assuage my guilt for my shortcomings and so that Ruby's expectations and hopes are met.

My reluctance to participate in all the extras comes from feeling that almost none of what Americans do to celebrate Christmas is what Christmas is actually about. Christmas seems to be a time to spend money we often don't have, decorations and lights on the house to impress others, drinking too much wine, and make-believe people/creatures. The traditional Christmas is not something I really want to participate in. Call me Scrooge, but I do not find meaning in all of the fake and falsified.

For me, a meaningful Christmas is one with parties with family, friends, and coworkers. Gathering to enjoy delicious food and spending time together. Decorations, gifts, and stress kept to a minimum. Walking through a quiet neighborhood on a quiet, snowy night, talking about the meaning of the season. Singing carols and hymns together. Every time I sit in church on Christmas and sing, I cry. It moves me. Volunteering with loved ones - ringing a bell or serving food or a million other things to make the season special for someone less fortunate. Finding beauty and peace in the moonlight. A day bundled against the cold, sledding with my family. Red noses and shivering bodies piling in the house to warm up to hot chocolate and an overload of mini marshmallows.

Christmas is a feeling to me that is created by love and time with people I care about. It is creating memories instead of accumulating stuff. I want Ruby to learn that too - it is not the stuff, it is not the race or the stress or the money. It is not proving my love by the number of gifts under the tree. It is finding the love that started all of that. I want to peel back the layers of all the extra to find the beauty of Christmas once again. I want to teach her to seek the beauty and joy in those moments of laughter and connection that speak to her heart. Instead of momentary delight in a new toy, cultivate moments and memories to collect in her heart and soul and make her truly feel Christmas and she will have the gift of delight to last the rest of her life.

I struggle to balance teaching her to find the love, with matching her and my (self-imposed) expectations. So often, it makes me question if I am doing enough. Then, I am reminded that she is just a kid and maybe there does not have to be so much feeling. Maybe just make the memories now and the feelings will come later. Then, as always, I wonder if I am too much.

The upside is that whether I am right or wrong, I go through this inner turmoil because I love my daughter and want the best for her. She has given me the gift of delight for the past 5 Christmases. I only hope to return the same.

The moon

It's such that a North Dakota winter is very often gloomy and dark. This time of year, the sun rises shortly before 8:00 a.m. and sets sometime before 5:00 p.m. There isn't a lot of opportunity for the sun, especially when the days are often overcast with such ambiguous blue/gray clouds that it's hard to tell if you are looking at clouds or sky - until realizing the giant give-away of the missing sun.

It's not the sun I care too much about anyway.

The moon is who my eyes search for when they raise to the sky. It is a nightly ritual for me to shut the lights off in my home before I retire to bed and look out my kitchen window for a glimpse of the moon. This thing I do is so much a part of me that I did not even notice it was a ritual until now.

There was a super moon the night of my birthday and I secretly anticipated the night. It turned out that there were too many clouds to get a good view of the super moon, other than a very muted halo. I was disappointed but not surprised. So often during the winter, I cannot see her. However, when Ruby and I are leaving in the darkness of the morning to begin our day in the world, she's still there. If I'm lucky, the clouds have parted and I feel her waiting for me. She searches for me, like I search for her. Always, always I feel a pull of gratitude in my heart for the 3 second glimpse of her before pulling out of the driveway. Sometimes I pause and ask Ruby to admire her with me.

I think she knows I need her more for the day than the night.