Yesterday and the Land of Lincoln

Yesterday I did the unthinkable: I watched tv (okay Netflix) all day long.

*gasp*

At Kelly's insistence I've gotten hooked on Jane the Virgin which has upped the number in the overlap of the venn diagram of tv shows Kelly and I like.

Chris is making breakfast for the kids right now. I'm making a venn diagram of tv shows my sister and I like. He's a patient man. Although... he doesn't know that's what I'm doing... bwah ha ha ha!

Back to yesterday. Yesterday I dropped kids off at school and then came home and crashed on the couch. My brother was passing through town and I met him for some great Tex-Mex and then I came home and crashed again until it was time to pick up kids. Guys, I don't think I've EVER spent a school day like that. It was great. Certainly not something I want to do regularly but once a semester or so for sure.

After picking up the kids from school we did this:

My parents gave Chris a HUGE container of Lincoln Logs for Christmas. See that huge blue container? When all of the Lincoln Logs are in it... it's FULL. My plan is to sneak all of the train tracks out of Nils' room one day when he's napping so we can build a huge log cabin village with a train running all through it. I would include Nils except that the majority of the time he plays construction games with us we dub him "Godzilla."

Yesterday was great. Today: a trip to the library, a huge trip to the grocery store, and of course, the Lincoln Log container is already open.

3 pm update

Damn, I love my washing machine and dryer. I don't think I ever ever use them without feeling so thankful to have them. Seriously.

We started the day off on the right foot with Nils' choice of Barney (yes, really) which meant that I got to take a shower in peace. Alleluia! Thank you Barney! I also reorganized our pantry. I would like to say "cleaned out" but we all know that's a lie. I just rearranged. Then, I decided it was high time to face the laundry I've ignored for pretty much a month. Chris was down to nothing. He probably wore a suit to work today. Or a swimsuit.

Mysteriously the majority of Carolena's laundry was leotards and costumes. Okay, not mysteriously. OBVIOUSLY. That kid.

After Barney I announced it was time to go to Target which we never do. No, that isn't sarcasm. I don't actually like going to Target. *gasp* We (cough I cough) went nuts in the 90% Christmas clearance and came home with a ton of wrapping paper and tags and Christmas galore. Hooray for 35 cent wrapping paper! We ran into an aquaintance there who looked at my cart like I was nuts. And of course said something snarky. She would. Umm... but she's the one whose nuts, right? I just spent 3 bucks on $30 worth of wrapping paper. *insert massive eye rolling*

The kids requested McDonald's for lunch and as I was/am determined to have a great day, we went off to the land of Happy Meals. And now... they're both asleep.

All is calm. The dryer is doing all the work. Sure, there is a grocery list to be made and a heck of a lot of laundry to be folded. There is still stuff covering the dining room table that needs to be put away. There's dinner to be made. But for now... quiet. Calm. Now, where did I leave my book?

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree!

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, why must you provoke our poor Carolena so?

As it turns out, after several years now, I think we should go ahead and say with certainty that C is allergic to Christmas trees. Not allergic like sneezing and sniffling. Not allergic like a huge rash all over her body. Allergic like she is a little kid who can't keep herself from touching the tree (allll of the freaking time - like every time she walks by) and then breaks out in welps. Hives. Red splotchy itchy-looking allergies of swollen spots that she scratches at but refuses to admit hurt.

*sigh*

Poor Carolena. If only we could keep her out of the dang tree! It is very telling that she is my child that every year she breaks out primarily on her face and arms as though she has literally been snuggling in and hugging our tree.

She refuses to let me put Benedryl cream on her and instead sticks her nose in the air and says calmly in a snooty and dignified voice, "my body will take care of my body."

So I sneak it on her when she's sleeping.

This year we've finally realized "duh, this happens every year" and resolved ourselves to purchasing a fake tree.

And with that I announce the first resolution of 2016: No whining or ill-will toward or negativity about our fake tree! Not a word! Not a look! Nothing. Nadda. I will be fully excited and engaged. Because our poor sweet Carolena loooovvvvess Christmas trees. And, as it appears, cannot stay out of them. So we need to put a fake one out for her so that she can fully participate. Next year will be my first year of my entire life with a fake tree and I am determined to have a 100% good attitude about it. Because how could I do anything else for that awesome little spotty Carolena? And why did it take us this long to figure it out?

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, you are beautiful and you smell fabulous and we love you. Especially our cats who have consumed more water from your stand than you have. Thanks for a fabulous last year... at least until C is old enough to stop snuggling with the tree... which will be what like... 35? 37? 78 more years?

I Don't Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas

For pretty much every year of my adult life the adults in my family have struggled with what to do for one another when it comes to Christmas. The basic conversation revolves around whether or not to give gifts to one another and what exactly that should entail.

Perhaps I should sum up better than that: none of us needs anything. None of us (Kelly and Jimmers sometimes excluded) wants anything. And yet... all of us enjoy giving to one another. Christmas morning is kind of a bust with nothing to open (this is theory as it has never been proven. Honestly, I wouldn't mind just drinking coffee and eating julekake one year and seeing how it goes. I have a feeling it would still be Christmas. And man, if the coffee was unlimited... what a Christmas it would be! *gasp* OR next year everyone gets one gift: roller-skates! And then we take to the streets!).

So, this year we made up a new approach: no one is allowed to buy anything anything for any adults in extended family. Everyone is giving gifts to everyone, but all gifts must be something you already have in your house or made from supplies you have on hand.

The idea was one originally come up with as a way to encourage grandparents to pass along attic treasures that could be used/loved/displayed rather than sitting in boxes. But something wonderfully unexpected has happened: I've discovered a new level of generosity is involved in this type of giving.

Because there isn't anything of mine in our house that I don't want.

Yes, really. I get rid of anything I don't want. Pretty much the minute I don't want it. Which is why I have no winter clothes this year as last summer I got rid of them all. Genius.

So, that means I will have to be generous. And it's exciting! I can't reveal what I'm giving anyone as they all check my blog (or saaay they do...) and to be honest I'm not entirely sure what everyone will get, BUT I have to give generously as I have nothing to give from my home that I don't want. I won't be bringing a box of cast-off crapola to dump on someone else. I will be hand-selecting things that I see as treasures from my own home in hopes that someone else will see their value and treasure them as well. *wow* This is an unexpected result of something I thought would just be a fun zany new Christmas experience.

hmmm... I wonder how Trent is going to feel when I give him one of our cats...

A Twilight Zone Christmas

If Carolena is the second to wake up, we like to get snuggled up together in my favorite chair (yes, I'm an old man and have "my arm chair") and gaze at our Christmas tree. One morning Carolena pointed out a particular ornament that my brother-in-law painted for me a few years ago. It is one of the very best gifts I've ever received and depicts Chris in clericals, me in a Donna Reid-esk red dress, and a small pink bundle in my arms.

"I like that ornament of you and Daddy" Carolena said and then she pointed to the one Bryan made last year in which our family has two kids standing with Chris and me, "and I like the one with me and Nils in it too."

"Look again at the first one" I told her, "I'm holding something. What do you think I could be holding?"

Without getting up to look at the ornament she guessed, "Meeko?" (her stuffed animal raccoon)

"Nope. I'm holding a baby in a pink blanket"I replied, "Who might have been a baby in a pink blanket that I held at Christmas time?"

She thought a moment and then in a very firm voice replied in all childhood sincerity: "Aunt Kelly."

Christmas Vacation

Our cats, Snot and Snot, are drinking all of our tree water. I thought that our tree was just taking up an enormous amount of water, but they've now become incredibly bold about it and just sit drinking the water like it's their own personal Evian bottle.

Someone has also been "nosing through the trash" and it's impossible to throw anything away in this house without C walking by, screeching that it's insanely valuable, and pulling it back out. Oh yes, I forgot that we needed to keep that Happy Meal box until the end of time rather than send it out for recycling.

Clark put up Christmas lights this year. Fewer than some of our neighbors but more than others and certainly much more than we've done in the past.

Aunt Bethany lives here too. I wish I could use pointer fingers to show where she is but... I have to use thumbs I suppose. Knitting, wearing crazy hats, hearing funny squeaky sounds... but there is something in the damn attic again!

What if the thing in the attic has put on an old funky hat and is teary-eyed and watching old Christmas videos?! Oh geeze.

Clark's been working on our toilet because "shitters full" - not really - somethings weird though as it keeps making a random flushing noise. Thank God I have a husband who fixes things.

Last year Cousin Eddie gave me the gift that kept on giving the whole year (a book of the month club that she made) and I opened the last one yesterday. It's actually the gift that will continue to keep on giving next year as well since I still have plenty of books to read.

Just kidding, Kelly. You're not Cousin Eddie. If I'm Aunt Bethany then of course you're Uncle Louis. hahaha!!! Oh HOLY MACKEREL - you're Uncle Louis.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Sometimes a few days at home is just what the doctor ordered. And no, I don't mean my own grown-up life-in-suburbia two-kids-and-two-cats home. I mean home home. ET phone home. Big Money Texas. Beaumont, y'all. There's just something about driving down I-10 and seeing a huge alligator welcome you to Beaumont that just screams... well, I'm not sure what that screams actually... something.

Ah, yes, a few days at home with my family was wonderful. I slept in my own room. Well, for like five seconds. I slept in Hunter's room for two nights as I crashed while tucking in C and spent a few sleepless nights shushing N from Kelly's bed as well. Evidently we like to leave my mother with sheets to wash on every single bed. Sorry, Mom. Carolena came home talking about how the Piney Woods make you sneeze to which I like to respond in a weird creepy Cajun/country/made up accent, "Yyyeeeeppp, that's liiife behiiind the piiiine currrtain. I was born in that there briar patch."

I never claim(ed) to be normal.

We ate fabulous food (but awesomely not toooo much of it), danced the Charleston (because, duh), played games (nope, other people did that. I read BFrank's bio), and were just happy to all be together.

But, as all good things must come to an end, Saturday morning arrived and the piney woods had taken their toll. My sinuses have forgotten how to survive in such extreme circumstances. My children were exhausted. My mother was remembering her own Benjamin Franklin research ("fish and visitors" you know). So we loaded up the plethora of Coke glasses I'd reclaimed from the attic (I'm sure Chris is thrilled) and headed home.

We came home with a pile of dirty laundry (because I did not heed my mother's advice to wash it before leaving) and arrived to a completely empty refrigerator. So I started a load of laundry and hopped out to the grocery store.

Chris tossed our bags into our bedroom and we started hauling down the Christmas decorations. A tree was purchased and decorated. Lights were strung up outside. I pulled out white paper and started cutting out snowflakes galore. I have priorities after all. The laundry will eventually get done. The grocery buying can wait. But the joy and anticipation of Advent? The excitement and wonder of incarnation? The mystery of love and God among us in a hurting and war-torn world? Yeah, I'm ready to get into that. So we pulled out the things that we claim as "Christmas" and started pouring them all over our household. There is so much in this world that I can't control. There is so much anger and hate and hurt. But you know what I can control? Whether or not there is a 7ft tree taking up residence in the living room. Yeah, we're ready for Advent. We're ready for a season of hope. A season of reflecting on peace, on Emmanuel.

So this morning we awoke to a twinkling Christmas tree. A good-smelling-happiness-inducing slice of Advent. A reminder of hope. A reminder of peace. A reminder that God is with us. Nils stares at it in impish wonder and joy. His face glows in merriment that can't be contained nor described. "Tree! Tree!" he exclaims while dancing and pointing. Carolena sighs and stares dreamily at its twinkling lights. They know nothing of the hurt and pain of the world. They know only of love and comfort and joy. Children at Christmas time. I'm just ready for that.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me... Xanax?

Nothing says "Fourth Day of Christmas" like a clergy spouse standing in the rain mere steps from the narthex while the service has already started, yelling "I don't care that your raincoat isn't buttoned!" at her child while trying to balance two bags of canned goods, an umbrella, a diaper bag, and a baby in her arms. People around here are tired and we've been to church a lot this week. Thank God for the two men who came out to grab the bags and the umbrella.

But really, in a strange way, isn't that what community is all about?

Some people claim that they don't need to go to church on Sunday mornings because they worship God on their own. I think that's a cop-out. Get your lazy butt out of bed, put on real clothes, and find a community to worship with. Because community is not about the "show" of being in church. And, guess what, community doesn't have to be perfect. In fact, none are.

Having a community means having a group of people there to catch you when you are flailing and rejoice with you when you are soaring. It means having a group of people to surround you as you go through the ups and downs of life. It means having familiar faces to greet you when you are having a morning in which people are tired and yelling at one another. It means that I will see those same beautiful faces next Sunday, when we are (hopefully) more with it and not yelling at one another outside of the church doors.

One day over the summer Chris and I attended a party at which we were the youngest people by about thirty years. And you know what? That was one of the most fun parties I've been to in a long time. Or ever. If we didn't have a church community would we even know people of all ages? Or would we just hang out with other parents in our general age group? I can just picture that now: all parties with children screaming and smearing pizza sauce onto things while the adults zone out in tiredness drinking beer and talking about potty training. Actually, scratch that, when was the last time people in our age group even had a party? We'd all rather put kids into bed and crash on our own couches watching reruns of Friends. Am I right or am I right? Right? Right? Right?

I am thankful that I have a group of people who know me and I know them. They've seen my daughter learn to walk. They've seen her throw tantrums in church, eat more than her fair share of donuts, and sing like an adorable little angel on Christmas Eve. They've seen me wallow in the misery of pregnancy and celebrated with us when our son was born. They've seen Nils as a small nugget riding in my papoose grow into a wild man crawling as fast as possible down the aisle to get to the front and see Daddy.

Yes, I am thankful for community. Nothing could replace the beauty of having a church community to live life with.

...and to help grab the bags when people are getting rained on and just need to get into the building.

More Like Zeroes in a Half Shell... Am I Right?

This was Carolena's first Christmas to be really excited about something specific that she wanted from Santa. Last Christmas she was excited about the idea of Santa coming. This year she was excited about what he might bring.

This was also Carolena's first time to learn the hard way that Santa doesn't always bring what you want. Bummer. Turns out if you can't be persuaded to ask Santa for something other than a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bike and a live wombat, you're going to be disappointed. You'll shoot your eye out kid.

Come Christmas morning Carolena dashed out to the fireplace only to find a pink and white bike with flowers on it and a TMNT zippered bag attached to it. I could tell by her face that she was devastated. All visions of making the neighborhood jealous as she whipped down the street on her new black and green bike flew from her head as she stared at a bike with flowers on it. Flowers.

Carolena was insanely mature about the bike. I think she knew deep down that the wombat was a long shot, but the bike she thought was in the bag. We'd looked at bikes in stores all over town. She would stare at "the Teenage Mutant Turtle one" and tell me that was the one she was going to ask Santa to bring. She could not be persuaded otherwise. Unfortunately for Carolena, they don't make those bikes small enough for her.

They also don't make Ninja Turtle bikes for girls (uhhh... helllo?!?!) and as my mom put it, "have you ever fallen onto that bar?!" So getting the too big boy bike was not an option for Santa. Not an option at all. Except for when it was an option and in the shopping cart sleigh and then second thoughts crept in... but no, not an option.

She was a great sport about it though. She still acted happy and posed for pictures. There was no mention of disappointment or failure on the part of the right jolly old elf himself.

Later on in the day she quietly mentioned that while she had asked Santa specificially for a Ninja Turtles bike, he had instead brought her a pink and purple bike with flowers on it. Flowers, for pete's sake.

I think she had Ramona-esk visions of speeding through our streets on the TMNT bike, the envy of all other kids and these visions were destroyed by something in the form of pink and purple. Poor Carolena. It was a little heart-wrenching, but did make me think of my friend who told me recently that she wishes her parents had not raised her to believe that she could always have anything she wanted. This, she says, has led her to be thirty-something and just now having to learn the hard way that she does not and cannot in fact, "have it all."

So, yes, Carolena, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Carolenas. He might not bring you live animals from Australia or bikes that are intended for boys several inches taller than you, but thank God he lives and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Carolena, nay 10 times 10 thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

And, thankfully for mommies everywhere, making glad the heart of childhood has nothing to do with live wombats. Well, very little to do with them at least.

Beau Brummelly

Earlier this week Nils and I went shopping in hopes of finding something cute for the kids to wear to church for Christmas. A relatively new mom of two, I had visions of each store displaying tons of cute matching holiday finery which I would have to narrow down for C&N. After years of my sister's complaints that there is "nothing nice for boys" you would think I would have known better.

Nils and I braved Katy Mills in the height of Christmas season and came out with... pajamas. There are racks and racks of girls' Christmas dresses and then just t-shirts for boys. T-shirts? I can just picture our family photos now: all of us standing together at church in our Christmas finery. Chris in his big chasuble, my new hat, Carolena's fluffy dress, and Nils... in a t-shirt with a reindeer pooping on it.

What I want is to walk into the Gap, or Old Navy, or Target and see a display of nice Christmas clothes all together. Matching sweater dresses and sweaters (or sweater vests). Oxford shirts for boys. Slacks. And don't even get me started on the selection of boys' church shoes. This doesn't seem complicated.

Instead... The Gap had girls' sweater dresses and boys' t-shirts together. And sweatpants! This was all on the same center display - girls' dresses, boys' tees and sweatpants. What kind of a guy wears a tee and sweatpants when the girl he's with is wearing a dress? A guy who lives in his parents' basement planning the murders of innocent neighborhood cats... that's who.

Old Navy had a girls' Christmas dresses and the nicest thing they had for boys were flannel lumber jack shirts and skull sweaters. Nice. Maybe Old Navy is the one actually catering to the murderous male?

Next year I'm just going to knit a matching dress and sweater for these guys. I'll have to start in July to get it done, but oh, it will be worth it. This year, I am going to dig through Kelly's kids' hand-me-downs and doll Nils up in something Williams-worthy (which means it will be preppy and adorable).

And Cut. That's a Wrap.

When Chris and I were engaged I was sitting at my parents' kitchen table working on something for the wedding (I have no memory of what it was) and totally stressing out about it. My mom finally put an end to it by yelling politely suggesting, "Casey, everything you touch is turning to shit right now! Put it away!"

I immediately turned to my brother, grabbed his shoulder, and then cackled, "Ha! Mom just called you shit!"

Remember the time I spent months working on a handmade project for my sister and then decided right before Christmas that I didn't like it and started something new?

Last night I showed Chris the new project and we determined it is ungiftable in it's current state (which was in theory "finished"). Hopefully it's not unsalvageable. I then made a double batch of caramel corn for Carolena's teachers that was taken from the oven and dumped into the trash.

Today I woke up at 4am, drank a ton of coffee, and worked out. Caramel corn: take two. Kelly's handmade gift: take three. Coffee drinking: take one million.

Hunter, want to come over and entertain me while everything I touch turns to poo-poo again?

Expectant Waiting

For a pregnant woman, the last weeks of waiting are some of the most intense. The fear of childbirth and the unknown of when it will begin. The excitement of the baby finally arriving after so much waiting and waiting and waiting. The feeling of knowing it could be "any day now" or weeks of still more waiting.

In the gospel of Luke when we find Jesus anticipating his arrest and coming passion (ch 22), the Greek word translated "anguish" or "agony" leads us to view Jesus with every muscle tensed. That's the "agony" described. Agony is not a very good translation into English - but alas, I cannot think of a better single word either. It's not agony like the agony of stubbing your barefoot toe on concrete. Agony in this sense is more like a runner. He is like the last person in a relay waiting for the baton. Every muscle is tensed. The anticipation is palpable.

I like to see this particular agony like that of the last weeks of pregnancy. Every emotional muscle is tensed waiting. Could today be the day? Am I going to make it all the way to lunch? Will I go to bed in my own bed tonight or be in the hospital? Will we have a newborn here in a few days? Or next week? Bags are ready and by the door. A crib is set up and the nursery is clean. A carseat rides around empty in the car.

This is Advent.

This is how we are to await the second coming of Christ. Like a woman awaiting the birth of a child. Like a runner poised to grab the baton for the final lap. We are supposed to live in such a way that our spiritual muscles are tense with anticipation. Like the parents who paint the nursery and wipe off every surface in anticipation of their newborn child. Like the father who glances at his wife's enormous belly and decides to go to bed a little earlier just in case he's awakened during the night to rush her to the hospital. Advent is the first season of our church calendar year and it should not surprise us that this first season reminds us of how we are to live out our lives. We are to live in anticipation. We are to live in this type of agony. Waiting. Watching. Preparing. Living our lives in advent as we make our song, "Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel."

Know When to Hold 'Em and Know When to Fold 'Em

I don't play poker (just because I don't know how, not for moral reasons you weirdos). I don't play poker, but I do know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.

And by that I mean the one handmade item I've been working on for months, the one item I planned out last year and put into motion this fall, got folded last night. Well, not literally, as it is lying in a big heap on the countertop, but I finally set it aside as a loss.

Kelly was supposed to receive a beautiful handmade surprise from me this Christmas. I've been working on it and working on it and working on it.

But, mama said there'd be days like this, and it was time to set it aside. Evidently, announcing months ago "I'm not going to be too anal about this because I want it to look homey" resulted in a project that looks like Prince Gerhardt made it.

When I make something for someone I like to pour love and good vibrations into it. Though I love the idea of what I was making (which is why it's still a secret), the reality made me grumpy. So, there was that. Plus, last night when I imagined Kelly's friends asking her about the item and her saying that I made it, the humiliation that washed over me made me realize it's time to call it a loss.

So, December 8th, here we are. Nice to see you. Joann's, watch out here we come. New day. New plan. Luckily I have until Epiphany to get it together.

Escalators

Remember last week when I gave up caffeine cold turkey for like three or four days? No? Me neither. Yesterday I had three cups of coffee and limited myself (it was hard) to one Diet Coke at lunch.

Yesterday Carolena announced that she no longer going to ask Santa for a bike but instead is now going to ask for a real live wombat.

Hard-hearted Harbinger of Haggis

I've been trying to figure out how to incorporate some Scottish heritage into our household, and Christmas seems like such an easy time to bring in the traditions of our forefathers. Julekake on Christmas morning and a string of Christmas heart baskets across the tree have always been staples for my God Jul. So, I thought this might be a great time of year to celebrate our Duncan name and find some good Scotish traditions to incorporate into our home.

The problem is... the only thing I can think of is to serve haggis. And the problem with haggis, of course, is that it's not boudain. 

Perhaps we'll just start buying some Clan Duncan Tartan items instead and Carolena can keep pretending to be Merida.

A quick Google search for "Scotish Christmas traditions" led me to a page that mentioned the term "rowdy celebration" so I guess our Duncan Clan already does incorporate my husband's and children's Scottish heritage into our Christmas! Done and done.

Harriet: "Do you actually like haggis?"

Charlie: "No, I think it's repellent in every way. In fact, I think most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare."

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A few years ago when I was pregnant with my firstborn I found myself on the phone with my sister, complaining about all of the annoying things people say to pregnant women. "You look so big!" Wrong. "You look so small!" Wrong. "Any day now?" Wrong. No matter what anyone said, unless it was "You look fabulous," it was the wrong thing to say.

After listening sympathetically to my woes Kelly responded, "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

And my head exploded.

She was right. No one knows what to say to a pregnant woman (except me: just tell them they look good and then shut your mouth). Everyone flounders and says stupid things. People reach out to touch their bellies. Everyone just wants to be a part of the miracle.

We say that the Episcopal Church welcomes you. What we don't mention is the caveat: the Episcopal Church welcomes you... until you start celebrating Christmas earlier than we have deemed appropriate and then people start to lose their shit.

Until recently, I would watch my neighbors string up their lights in mid-November and shake my head, "It isn't even Thanksgiving yet!" I would hear the carols playing in stores and roll my eyes, "Ugh, don't people observe Advent?!"

Last week we were driving home and passed a few houses decked out for Christmas. I inwardly cringed, but then I heard Kelly's voice echo in my head (how does she DO that?!), "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

People just want to be a part of a miracle.

People just want to be a part of a miracle and they are looking for it in the wrong places. Each year we put up more decorations and bake more cookies. We turn on the Christmas music a little earlier and watch just a few more Christmas movies. Those things are fabulous, and certainly fun, but do not in and of themselves bring us to the miracle of the incarnation.

One of the overlooked aspects of Christmas is that the Church stole a lot of our Christmas traditions from others. Sure, the incarnation part is significant to say the least and wholly ours, but the huge winter party complete with tree trimming - that was originally pure paganism. No one even knows when Christ was born. We took some traditions from "the world" and work to make them holy. It's kind of our thing.

So why do we get so worked up when people start celebrating too early? People just want to be a part of a miracle. Plus, get ready... not all churches observe Advent. Gasp! Perhaps, instead of blasting them on Facebook and shouting about how it isn't Christmas yet, we should offer them grace. Perhaps we should stop worrying about the world stealing our Christmas celebration (much of which we conveniently forget has always belonged the world) and instead work to make this time holy. Why don't we work to celebrate Advent and Christmas in such a way that people look at us and know that there is something more going on then just a big winter celebration?

It is easy to point out the problems with modern Christmas. It is difficult to find solutions. Nonetheless, here is what I propose:

• This year, let's focus on holiness. Instead of being annoyed with others and the frantic Christmas present buying and all of the excess, let's focus on silent nights. Holy nights.
• This year, let's forget about that damn Elf on the Shelf. Everyone knows that Santa does in fact bring presents to the "bad kids" - let's stop the b.s. on that one and instead teach our children the truth: Santa brings presents to everyone because all kids are actually good kids.
• This year, let's not worry about what others are doing during Advent. Put up your tree, sing Christmas carols, do all that jazz in December. But then... celebrate Christmas. Celebrate the twelve days of Christmas (they start on Christmas Day!) with acts of love and charity. Christmas is so much more than celebrating Jesus' birthday. It is celebrating incarnation, the moment when the Creator stepped into his creation. We are an incarnational people. Let's celebrate Christmas by being just that. 

My plan for our family to celebrate Christmas this year is to set aside the 12 days of Christmas as days to reach out to others in love and charity. Days to focus on being incarnational people. I plan for us to have projects for each of the days of Christmas to make it a time that is holy. Cookies for the garbage truck driver, food for the food bank, bird seed scattered to the birds, each day we'll find a way to bring peace, comfort, and joy to the world during this season.

This year when I see people celebrating Christmas "too early" or in ways that I think to be shallow or irreverent, I will remember that people just want to be a part of a miracle. People just want to be a part of the miracle, so let's shower them with tidings of comfort and joy.