If you are wondering what I am doing this week, here are
some of the roles that I am playing:
Protector of the manger and toy
rearranger.
Nativity lamb gluer and elf magic
doer.
Chief changer of diapers and
chocolate mouth wiper.
Ear wax remover and sweeper with
hoover.
Sugar cookie baker and Rainbow
Loom maker.
Battery charger and photo
enlarger.
Hello Kitty bike searcher and old
clothing purger.
Target card checker and Underwood
heckler.
Advent awaiter and football bowl
hater.
Greeting card opener and
wholehearted hoper.
Referee of fights and admirer of tree
lights.
Sangria drinker and blog posting
thinker.
These are a few of my favorite
things!
Ok…My girls are kinda going through a Sound of Music phase
this month, if you haven’t noticed. I’m just happy to be out of the Annie phase
for a while, actually. And I'm thinking that the Mary Poppins phase is just around
the corner.
So….Anyone else struggle with trying to get the perfect
Christmas Card photo? Two years ago we
tried to do it ourselves and it was a nightmare. The girls were either fighting or making
goofy faces or pouting or not looking at the camera. I think we took close to 80 pictures until we
got a good one. I swore that was the
last time I would do that so for the past few years, we have been using my
talented friend Alix Cloud who managed to get our amazing one shot in 15
minutes this year with no pouting or crying. Not
even from the six month old.
Really, I think
the problem two years ago was me, not the kids.
I wanted the perfect shot that showed how beautiful and well-behaved and
well-matched my princesses are. Everyone
wants to see the perfect family photo on the card, not the crazy one that is in
the other 79. I was striving for the image
of perfection. When I look at my
Shutterfly account now and remember that Christmas—the bangs that Ella had to
have because my dad thought it would be ok to cut her bangs nineteen fifties
style for me while I was at work, the rosy cheeks implying an oncoming headcold, the pouts and silly
smiles, the small stain on one of the red and green dresses-- those 79 outtakes are precious. And real.
We have many more imperfect moments than we have perfect ones.
Plus, God has a sense of humor, I think. He sent to the mom who strives for the image
of the perfect family three gorgeous, awesome, amazing, inspiring, and at times
frustrating, children. Two of which were
born with ears that do not function perfectly.
“So you think that if you work hard enough, you can achieve
perfection, do you? Well, here you go!”
says the Big Guy. “Now go learn something about the beauty of imperfection.”
To prove how imperfect life is…here is a video of me trying
to get Ella’s reaction to seeing Santa’s bounty under the tree while also
trying to attach her implant to her ear so she could take in the whole
experience. The result is a little
crazy, with a gem in the middle and then we lose an implant magnet at the end and the camera goes off! O-M-G!
I recently finished a book by Brene Brown called, The
Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You are Supposed To Be and
Embrace Who You Are. It is an amazing account of her discovery that truly
happy people accept imperfection in order to live whole heartedly.
She says that when we numb the dark we numb the light. And
in contrast, when we lean into joy, we can expect tender and vulnerable to be
part of the joy. Doing both pain and
joy at the same time is what makes us resilient.
I buy it all—hook, line and sinker.
This year on our Christmas card we wished for everyone to
make and hear some joyful noise this Christmas.
My kids will do both. Maybe
imperfectly, but they will do it. I am
working on leaning into the shrieks and the bickering and the tears and the
laughter and the giggly games of peek-a-boo and the music. All at once.
Christmas should be that—an appreciation of perfect and
imperfect coming together.
Christmas Eve service at my church was a cacophony of joyful
noise. We always attend the 4pm Family
Services because you can keep your kids with you in the big sanctuary and it is
a noisy service, so it is ok if your kids cry or kick the pew.
As I watched the Nativity story unfold in words and song, my
perfectionist mind took inventory of the things that made us less perfect as a
family—the matched dresses, but unmatched shoes the girls were wearing, a tear
in one set of tights, at least two runny ears among us (two kids with ear tubes
will do that to you in the winter), two implants, one hearing aid, a newly bespectacled
first grader’s face (not to mention the contacts and eyeglasses on the parents). Through all of that, if I really leaned into
it, I could see my kids’ smiles of delight at the junior choir’s performances. I caught Ella serving tea in the pew to her
imaginary friends and Wyatt making the other families giggle with his big
toothless grin. I was elated to find Ella actually enjoying the bell choir (who
says music appreciation is a no-go for kids with Cochlear Implants anyway?) and
Avery reading every word of the carols in the bulletin. Especially the hard
ones.
All five of us were present and accounted for and imperfect and glorious.
The pastor said it best when she exclaimed that the 4pm Christmas
Eve service always “gets you” because of the noise. At Christmas, we remember
that Jesus was fully human. He even
cried as an infant. He was imperfect in the flesh and that is the point. Crying infants in church on Christmas Eve is
a reflection of that night more than two thousand years ago. Beautifully
imperfect.
I have to say that Wyatt was a Holy Infant at that service,
too. He never fussed. He paid attention to the music, he smiled at
our pew neighbors, and he fell asleep before the end of Silent Night. I was proud
and content as I carried his limp little body through the church to the exit
and everyone who saw him made that “aww, he’s so cute” face. My sister-in-law
warned me that I need to keep him far away from Buddhist monks, or they may
declare him the next Dalai Lama and we would never see him again. He is that peaceful.
Until he is not.
Today, he proved that he is, in fact, a human baby. I
optimistically exercised my whole hearted living principle by taking all three
kids to the local Center for Puppetry Arts here in Atlanta. We had five tickets because I thought my mom
and Keith would accompany us, but both of them had better things to do (like
travelling and working), but I did not want the girls to miss the production of
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.
For a minute, I considered inviting our babysitter to join
me, but then decided to chance it alone. Not smart, but definitely whole
hearted.
We were late, as we chronically are, and we rushed in to sit
down in that theater’s version of the balcony just before the lights
dimmed. Every time they go through their
spiel about turning off “cell phones and anything that lights up” my stomach
clenches just a little.
Side track: When Avery
was four we had her birthday party at the Center for Puppetry Arts and Ella was
just 17 months old with a brand new Cochlear Implant. The implants have little green lights on them
that tell you when it is working and when it is not. I believe the lights can
be disabled for adult CI users, but do not ask me how to do that because we
never think about it. It is actually
really necessary for parents to be able to tell if a battery is out or
something is broken.
While we were sitting
there waiting for Charlotte’s Web to start, an usher came up to us and tapped
me on the shoulder and asked me if I would kindly turn off the flashing lights
on Ella’s “hair clips” so as not to disturb the other patrons. I was very taken aback that the lights on her
implant would cause a disturbance to the production and looked around me to see
how much light it was emitting.
It was like a hyperactive firefly had landed
on her ear.
I could see how the
people behind us may find it obnoxious.
Apologetically, I explained that we could not disable the lights and we
were not going to take off her hearing device, so they would have to live with
it for this one performance. Ever since
that incident, I have been worried that a new usher will tap her on the
shoulder and upset her for not following the “nothing that lights up” rule. She
would be upset by that now that she is older.
I like that place a lot and think highly of it, but I have no shame in
threatening an Americans with Disabilities Act claim if they mess with me.
Anyway…In the same spiel about the lights, they also ask you
to take all crying children to the hall to “catch their breath”. Almost on cue, Wyatt started fussing.
Now what?? I could
duck out of the door with him which was just three feet from our seats, but
when the door closed behind me both girls would be sitting there alone. Would they fight? Get scared? Had I just
drawn attention to Ella’s light-up ears with my fussy baby?
Thankfully, the usher stationed next to the door was an
angel in disguise and agreed to watch the girls while I ducked in and out with
Wyatt for the entire hour. I’m guessing
he has an ear infection or something because it is not like him to be such a
grouchosaurus. In spite of it all, the
girls had an absolute blast at the show and they both were singing along with
all of the songs from the cartoon.
And what a great message for us to discuss in the van on the
way to lunch—misfit toys and bionic noses and elves that want to be dentists. Avery said she liked the part where Clarice
told Rudolph that his red nose was handsome.
“Aww, but it’s so different from everyone else’s.”
“But that is what makes it grand.”
We can understand how they both feel.
Here is the photo of lunch afterwards that made it all
completely worth it.
Tonight, I am praying that the joyful noises that fill my
home this week can continue to bring me joy, and bring me frustration. I know that living with both brings me the
gifts of whole hearted living.
Now back to witnessing the reenactments of scenes from the
Sound of Music by the Mini Muse Players. Did I mention such scenes were from
the Carrie Underwood version? And that
they prefer the “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” scene? Complete with mimicking the part where Liesel
and Rolf roll down the hill together?
Awkward!!
Merry Everything and Happy New Year!
