littleness

Recently I've taken to sending the kids out to get our mail. Our block has the distinction of collective mailboxes on the corner, an inconvenient remedy to a dog phobic mail carrier a couple years back. This task thrills them, and I watch from our porch as they scurry to the box and negotiate who will put in the key and turn it. Each time I send them, I say "Don't let the mail spill all over!". And each time, they reach on their tippy toes, feeling their way through the box, inevitably spilling the mail I've let pile up for a few days. It makes me smile but a lump also forms in my throat, as I watch their little bodies hunker down, frantically working together to collect the scattered papers and bills and junk mail that have wafted around them.

Because they have developed a great need to be within inches of me at all times,  this one minute respite puts things in perspective for me, and I am reminded of their 'littleness', and I feel more compassion. To borrow a phrase a friend recently shared, I feel as if I am nursing them again, and even the dog sometimes (don't ponder that for too long), as I can't step away for a moment without someone desperately needing attention or a drink or for me to brush their almost seven year old teeth for them(!). It's suffocating at times, and I recall those early baby days, fertively stuffing chips in my mouth, chunks falling on my infant's head in an attempt to nourish myself a bit before they devour me. Only now I stealthily wisk myself into the office/sewing room/getaway to check facebook or lose myself in delicious artsy/foody/crafty blogs before they boing back to me, giant amoeba that we have become. It's the moral equivalent of putting on my oxygen mask before assisting others.

As Christmas approaches, I am always torn with things I wish the kids wanted versus the plastic-y, commercial-y, junk-y things they indeed do want. desperately. Last year "Santa" (ahem) really dropped the ball when he purchased beautiful, well made hand puppets and wooden marble track sets and open ended art supplies. Cedahlia couldn't shake off her disappointment for at least 9 months, and I've had to come to terms with this. Now, we celebrate Jesus here and know that His birth is the true spirit of the holiday for us, do I need to write a disclaimer? I'm not writing a devotional here. If you know me, you know I love Jesus. We also love presents and I am still occasionally struck with that amazing *Christmas-y* feeling. Do you know what I mean? It may be when walking at night on a particularly jazzed up street, with the lights and snowflakes, and anticipation. Or sometimes just watching claymation movies with hot chocolate I remember and briefly feel that chill I used to get as a little girl. I love that magical feeling and I want my kids to experience it too. Life begins to suck pretty quickly, like say around 10 or 11, so for as long as I can bring some sort of magical whimsy to our lives, I am going to do it.

When I was 8, my dad braved the elbowing, viscious crowds to get me a Cabbage Patch Doll. If you don't understand the depths of love this act confirmed, watch this. If I recall correctly, they all came with cool, unusual names. I promptly renamed mine with the sensible choice of 'Maryann Kay'. This same year, Dad also made me my very own dollhouse, which was, and remains, totally awesome. It traveled around with me for over a decade, residing in various storage units before finally being passed on to a very happy 4 year old girl.

This is me as a lovely 8 year old girl of the 80's. When I unpacked the dollhouse in 2006, the toilet still contained tiny bits of toilet paper, as well as brown paper turds.

 

This is how the nuclear family of the 1980's chillaxed amongst their shag carpeting.

She always commands me to leave when she really gets to playing. I understand. I did those voices too.

In my dreams, Cedahlia and Ronan long for faceless dolls made of corn husks, and wooden marbles and play silks that they're supposed to be endlessly entertained by. I know better. This Christmas I plan on blowing their minds with all the glitzed up, plastic nonsense they can handle.