Christmas Momories

Yesterday afternoon, I said goodbye to the kids, and then to Peter reminding myself that I love my job. Most of it at least. 

After a year where I put 19,000 miles on my car and nearly flew to the heights of 1K status with United, I was home and off for two and a half weeks. Sure, I answered some emails, made a couple calls, visited a few restaurants, and stressed about daily sales. But mostly, in a quite undiluted way, I made all my time, family time. 

And in the weeks off, I feel like I reestablished the rhythms of my motherhood while building new dimensions to my relationships with the kids. 

With Mary, it was about absorbing how she is processing life as a young leading lady. The week before their winter break, she found out she would playing the part of Nemo in their spring school musical, Finding Nemo. Script in hand, smiling ear to ear, she proudly showed me her heft of lines and solos, then immediately went to work rehearsing in her room. Mary has confidence, grace, a quick wit and the cutest crinkled nose laugh. She can also have a temper, particularly when it comes to her brother. She loves card games and board games and loves beating her opponents even more. She craves adult conversation, always listening and observing intently, figuring things out faster than I can at times. It's a miraculous and beautiful stage of life to watch, but I also recognize she needs my help processing when things get confusing. Just a phone call or a text to her iWatch can help when I'm traveling this year, and I reinforced that I would connect more in 2025. 

Bobby. Oh Bobby. He is always moving, always tinkering, always finding humor and joy in the mundane. And if he’s not, he’s bottling up potential energy - energy that will explode as soon as his mind and body are a bit bored. We are kindred spirits. He has my enthusiasm and zest for life, all my need to go until I can't go anymore, all my curiosity and desire for human connection. I can tell my presence at home helps Peter manage him because I can match Bobby, satisfying his need for movement, while coaching him to stay focused when he needs to, to be sportsmanlike when competition gets the best of him, and to avoid conflict when it starts brewing. 

Margaret is just a sweetheart. It's the best way to describe her. She is so good. When there is fighting and screaming and twins crying around her, she just stays silent. She is an ever-calming presence, just like her namesake, right in the middle of our family. And she takes every opportunity she can to just be with me. Sit by me, cuddle with me, listen to books that I read to her, pray with me, even fall asleep next to me. The more I can sit still and allow it, the better. 

Jacqueline and Caroline are becoming part of the big kid gang. They have found the words and voices to push back, negotiate, claim their rights and stake in the family. Toward the end of break, there were hours when all the kids were playing together: playing hotel, family, sandwich shop, the world of make believe with a wide open aperture. The twins still need plenty of help, getting dressed and undressed, collecting hugs, lifted up and carried place to place if their legs are too tired. And they will blindly follow me to do things that maybe the others would bulk about. They want to sing and dance and act, and they want me to be a part of it, lifting them, twirling them, applauding their movements. 

What I learned in studying all of them, is that they all want more of my participation. So, on break, I attempted to give everyone as much of me as possible.

I returned to the kitchen to make spaghetti and meatballs, chicken pot pie, and Christmas Eve dinner.

We went skiing five times, including a night ski, a spring ski, and a blizzard ski.

I took the kids sledding and yelled at them to run to the car as fast as possible when they complained of frost bite.

With a little trepidation, I took all five to see Wicked, which ran 2 hours and 40 minutes, requiring much coaxing for Caroline not to ruin the finale.

I went to weekday Masses, sometimes solo, several times with a kid or two. And we lit candles. Candles for Mimi, candles for Brian, candles for world peace.

I read by the beautiful fires that Peter created. And beside me, under the tree, the living room would come to life every evening with piano playing, dancing in the hallway, and all sorts of interruptions to my concentration.

I played a lot of tennis and made sure the kids did as well. I ordered Shirley Temples for them afterward, and we listened to Christmas Carols driving down Forbes Avenue.

I ran and walked blocks with kids biking and scooting beside me.

We shopped in Shadyside and grabbed coffee and cake pops.

We organized closets, cleaned up drawers, gave a mountain of clothes and shoes to goodwill, and the kids listened to my lectures on tidiness and organization, assuring me they would do better.

We hiked, swam, played board games, and walked back and forth across the hallways of the hotel in Bedford Springs.

We did hair and makeup before parties and events.

I was a mom and I was a wife, and I loved every minute of it.

Yesterday, I drove to the airport, cut the security line, boarded my flight and said goodbye to Christmas break. Laundry was finished, folded and put away. Clothes were laid out for school. Grocery shopping was taken care of. It was back to normalcy, and a familiar questioning of whether or not I liked it. 

At the final Chapel service of last year, the principal of the kids’ school asked the assembly if they still had projects due, test and quizzes to take, homework to complete? They whole school raised their hands. He responded that they should finish the year strong, because the harder you work, the sweeter the break feels.

And perhaps that's why I loved this beautiful break so much. 

So, I will keep working hard, because there is dignity in that. But when it comes time for a break, whether it’s in the evening, at school drop off, on the weekends, or on vacation, I will take that break, live it up, and cherish it, just like we did at Christmas this year.

Lo.