It's Almost That Time.....

I have always been a dreamer...a romantic...somewhat of an idealist. I can't blame anyone or anything in my life for making me what I am. It is who I have been every since I realized that I had an opinion. Teachers called me an incurable romantic and an optimist.

As I have grown older, (and older and older,) I have become more tempered in my idealism, my optimism, and even in my romanticism somewhat.

Christmas rolls around every 365 days or so, but in the past several years, it has seemed like it comes about every 3 months. I just get the needles cleaned up off the carpets before the next tree is coming in the door, shedding as she goes.

When I was little, Christmas was so simple. There was absolutely no stress---no really important decisions to be made. (My mother says, "Yeah, right!") Then I grew up. We all do, and how we handle the days like Christmas changes and evolves with us.

As I end this year, I am 43 years old. You would think by my thought processes that I was nearer to 90 sometimes. I am tired. I admit it. 5 kids and 19 Christmases with kids have worn me out. I cannot even bear to fathom the thought right now that I have at least 16 more years to provide a Christmas experience for a kid with big ole brown eyes, searching my eyes for clues as to what the "big day" will bring.

I cannot deny them their day! I had 18 years of my parents making Christmas look like it was a breeze. Sometimes I wonder, am I doing something wrong? Why is it so much harder for me to make it to the morning of December 25th, arriving with my sanity still intact? How did my mother always manage to have presents wrapped and under the tree, Santa's "arrival" perfectly scheduled, while still working a full-time job and raising 5 kids just like me? She had such grace--not a hair out of place and no bags under the eyes on Christmas morning from all the previous nights of missed sleep! I contend that the finesse with which my parents pulled off Christmas argues for the existence of Santa Claus, because they could not possibly have done it all!

I think I started to notice the change in me the year I assembled the Batmobile pedal car after getting two hyper little boys into bed sometime after midnight. I don't think I have ever been so tired in my life. My twin brothers were mere babes back then---teens who stayed out til the wee wee hours. I remember them coming in the door of my parents' house where we had all assembled for Christmas at about 2 in the morning, and them watching me struggle with the tools as I put that stupid car together. It was obvious that they did not "get it" yet. They had no idea how tired I was, how frustrated, how mad at myself for purchasing this stupid pile of indiscernible plastic and metal parts. I wanted to scream, "Run away! Don't get married, have kids, settle down just yet! Or you, too, will be assembling unassemblable toys with a thousand unlabeled parts, when you should be cuddling up by the fire with that special someone sipping hot cocoa and watching the snow fall outside."

Yes, there is something about becoming the giver instead of the receiver that changes you forever. Some of it is for the good. Some of it is rather sad, especially if you are an "incurable romantic."

I have changed. My husband asked me this year what I wanted for Christmas. I could not think of a thing. I truly have everything I need. While that sounds trite, it is accurate. Oh, yes, a new multi-megapixel digital camera or a state-of-the-art computer upgrade would be nice, but they are not necessary to my happiness.

What I would love, I can't have. World peace. A cure for cancer. Instant obliteration of all the evil troublers of this world. Brotherly love. These things are obviously not material goods. But no one can get these things for me.

I guess at some point, I have transformed into more of a spiritual creature and less of an earthly one. That is good, I believe. At best, none of us has too many more "Christmases" left on this earth. As my grandmother used to say, "It is all gonna burn up some day."

Still, the little ones are hyper. "Santa" is coming. I love seeing the joy in their eyes on Christmas morn. I adore it if we just happen to get a white Christmas. I will cherish the time with my parents, Lord willing, one more year. I am proud another 365 days has passed, and none of my loved ones will be missing from the table of celebration by the grace of God. I will celebrate the last Christmas at home for my firstborn, before he begins his own journey towards becoming the giver. It is all so sweet and so bittersweet at the same time.

I am more content than I have ever been in my life. That does not mean that my life is perfect or that there are things I would not change if I could. It just means that all is well for me today. Whatever happens is o.k., too. I am so grateful for that. I embrace that thought and thank God for His part in providing all I need and more.

I am tired, but I will make it. One day, there will be no more "assembly required" and I will hopefully sit by the fire with my beloved, snuggling close, as we sip some cocoa and look out at the snow falling. It's a ways off, but I have just enough of the romantic left in me to be able to see it if I squint hard enough and just enough of the optimist left in me to believe it will come one day. And if the truth be known, there is probably just enough of the idealist still left inside me to
entertain the notion that there is more going on at the North Pole than global warming.