merry christmas, mrs scrooge

This year, Christmas isn’t lighting my tree as it has in the past. Rowan mostly just tries to eat the lights on the tree and Lucy is convinced that Jesus is coming to celebrate Santa’s birthday (sort of – her interpretation changes every day). Sam is as low-key as ever. And despite our decorations, I keep forgetting that it’s one week till Christmas.

We had our annual party last week and it felt a bit flat to me. A lot of energy goes into hosting a party like that and I didn’t get much energy out of it at the end of the day – another anomaly. We’ve been in church for every Sunday of advent, but church with two kids isn’t a time of spiritual reflection, it’s a scramble of spilled Cheerios and whispered books during prayers and feeding offering envelopes to the baby in hopes that we can all get through the service. It’s a normal phase of life but it’s not a lot of fun.

Is this sounding whiny? I’m not particularly upset. I believe in seasons – the seasons of the calendar and liturgical years, obviously, and the seasons of the heart as well. Sometimes those seasons can change over the course of a day, and sometimes they change slowly over years. This might be part of my transition to being a card-carrying adult, or it might just be a blip in my usual modus operandi. It’s not worth it to fight how I feel and make Christmas into a giant deal. I’m doing yoga daily and I adore it. I’m playing Christmas music and I printed off a fun little nativity for Lucy to play with. It’s just not a big deal around here this year, and it’s nice to just rest in the calm.

In a few years it will be more difficult to keep things low-key, as with every passing moment my children are more heavily influenced by forces outside the will of their parents. So I’m enjoying spending this season on my yoga mat, and to be honest it feels more advent-ful than previous years, for me. We’ll see if this has any bearing on the annual January doldrums that I dread with every fibre of my being.