A Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

Browsing through the photos I took this Christmas season; I'm filled with awe. And a lot of awwwww. The memories look so sweet and precious, so well organized and executed. They look quite miraculous even. 

                

It's not that I curated the photos in this way, removing or displacing the ones that didn't tell the right narrative. It's that I tend to only capture the good moments and images that match. And because of that, there are distinct, palpable and lasting memories missing from my collection. 

I can't be the only one that does this. Thinking back on my childhood and looking through the photos in any given year of it, my dad did an amazing job archiving the flawlessness of the 80s and 90s. There was no sign of exhaustion of two professional parents, no indication that the vacation took way too much work to have fun, no sibling squabbling. It was all pure and perfect. 

But some of my more vivid memories come without a photo attachment. There was a Thanksgiving on Bartlett Street when I remember playing in my bedroom with all my cousins. I was wearing my sister's patent leather 'high heels', dancing and kicking my legs up high like the Rockettes in the Thanksgiving Day parade. One shoe flew off and landed heel first in my little brother's lip. It was gushing blood and he was rushed to the ER. I remember silence and sobriety in the house, my Dad's Thanksgiving dinner resting idle until Tiny Tim returned. I remember my dad carrying him inside the house, hours later, seven stitches later, to a room of anxious and hungry attendees. When dinner was finally served, my brother still under the effects of anesthesia slept through it in my mom's arms. I was probably five or six at the time, my brother two or three. There are no photos of this scene. But no one in the family will ever forget that imperfect Thanksgiving.       

I think there is an unspoken rule to take photos that match a certain vision, particularly around the holidays. And the rise of social media has exacerbated this. On my iPhone, our Christmas was delicious, decorated, and delightful. In my current mental state, our Christmas celebrations were challenged, mostly driven by twins in their very terrible twos. 

While the photos show the moment when everyone was happy, here are moments that were a little less so.

The Phipps light show. Destination worthy at Christmas time. I miraculously got a parking spot right in front of the Conservatory. Peter and his dad were delayed at the Roberto Clemente Museum, so I had set out to start our tour as a solo parent. I got the first three out, unbuckled Caroline and then Jacqueline. I lifted Caroline out and as I turned my back to put Caroline on the sidewalk, Jacqueline fell out of the car and onto the sidewalk, crying and screaming, bystanders looking at me like what the heck?! I was a terrible mom, but I kept cool. She was fine, she stopped crying almost immediately, and we all ran in to bob and weave through the crowds, me counting that I had 1, 2, 3, 4, where's Bobby?! okay, 5 kids, every minute or so.    

Our Christmas tree. Peter had broken his ribs before Thanksgiving, and they were still healing when we purchased and put up our nine-foot Christmas tree this year. Peter lugged it inside, got it into the stand, and stood back to admire it with me. I told him it wasn't straight. He agreed. He unscrewed the screws, and worked with me to get it in place, wincing, wailing, and swearing so only I could hear how painful it was to lie in the ground, hold the tree in place, and screw it into the stand. He asked the kids to leave the living room till he was done to preserve the perfection for them.

Christmas Mass. Bobby's candlelight procession was beautiful. The whole church was beautiful and full for the first time since last Christmas. The Gospel, and Caroline started her antics. The homily, and Jacqueline was getting restless too. Peter and I walked them up and down the side aisles, the source of entertainment for everyone sitting behind the massive gothic beams that couldn't have seen the pulpit or altar anyway. They scampered around the baptismal font. They had a tantrum in the back of the church, side vestibule, and atrium door. Peter finally said enough was enough and ejected them from Church. 

Christmas Eve Lunch - our reunion with our dear friend, Charles. The twins were just crazy. The security guards around the Museum yelled at them at least three times. 

Christmas Eve Dinner. Beautiful dinner. The twins watched Cocomelon through it. 

Christmas Day, Caroline and Jacqueline wouldn't nap. I knew they would be fussy at dinner at my parents house, and they were. I made myself and my mom a French 75 while Caroline was on my left hip - the one that hurts more and more day by day from the twins overusing it. I put Caroline down for a second, and Jacqueline saw her opportunity to climb aboard. As I was about to say Cheers with my Mom, she bulldozed me and my cocktail and I spilled all over me and my Mom. Cheeeeeese. 

My parents came over on the 26th for dinner. Caroline was once again in a state sans nap. As we were eating our soup that only the adults wanted to try, Bobby rushed in to tell me that Jacqueline's nose was bleeding. That Caroline had taken chopsticks and put them up Jacqueline's nose. Poor Jacqueline looked awful and it took a while for the bleeding to stop. The rest of the lovely dinner I had envisioned, came with Jacqueline curled up on my lap, and Caroline screaming in time out until she fell asleep on the floor of her room. 

The sounds of, 'up, up, up, no, up Mommy, up, up, Momma, Momma, Momma, UPPPPPP!', Mary and Bobby fighting over who is better at hockey, Margaret still coughing from the cold she's had for a month. Me yelling. Peter yelling. All of this, clearly not photographed for posterity.  

During Mass, one of my stops with the temperamental two-year-old in my arms was the Manger. Caroline was actually perfectly quiet contemplating it, or my bracelets that she was holding in her hands. I looked and prayed. For patience. For fortitude. For peace. And as I stared a little deeper, I recognized how imperfect the diorama was. It was a manger after all - filled with animals, and hay, it smelled, it was uncomfortable, it was surrounded by shepherds and sheep. That's where Mary gave birth after riding on a donkey for days. But in this unlikely place, one of the most holy miracles in Christianity occurred. Over the years, it's lost context - the images look sweet and beautiful - just like my Christmas photos. But in that deeper reflection, you can witness the power of imperfection. How grace abounds in even the lowliest of places. That challenges and even moments of defeat will surface, but it's what you do through those tough times, that can strengthen a family, a friendship and one's faith.  

And looking back, the hilarity of life frequently lives in the messy parts. My mom told me that my Grandma always took and cherished the goofy pictures - that they were the best ones. As a mom of eight, she was quick to find laughter in all that life challenged her with. May I have the same courage and that same sense of humor.     

Lo. 

How Big Their Brave Is

It would be a relatively simple reflection if this entry was about me. I turned an advanced age this year. I took on a new job, in a new department, in a new city. I haven't run a marathon in nine years. And last month, I did one. Under a beautiful fall sky in Chicago, with 40,000 other gutsy souls, with my family cheering me on at miles 15 and 23. It's been a humbling, brave, and at times accomplished year for me, but I'm wired to accept challenges and persevere. 

But this entry isn't about me, it's about my kids. And just how brave they've been.  

Back in February, on a chilly midwestern evening, I told my kids were going to move. Margaret and Bobby said, 'okay,' my announcement not phasing them one bit. Mary cried, or rather hyperventilated, for about twenty minutes. She went to bed with tears streaming down her face. Only Peter could console her. He told me she was okay after some stories, after a calming conversation. But I worried.  

I questioned myself and the decision we made all summer. Are we doing the right thing? For the kids? For us? I kept looking for signs to pivot, but they never came. So, we persisted and pursued this new direction. 

On the first week of her new school, in her new classroom, Mary told me that her teacher played a theme song for them. It was called 'Brave' by Sarah Bareilles. She asked Siri to play it as I made dinner, and she started dancing and singing. I loved it. How fitting, how in tune, I thought as I chopped and sauteed. I told her, 'This is the best theme song for you. Think of all that you are doing this year. Think of how brave you've been!' I started dancing with her. 

She shrugged and the mood dimmed. She stopped dancing. Awkwardly, so did I.  

She looked up and said, I didn't dance when I was at school today. All the other kids did. But I didn't feel comfortable. I didn't want them to make fun of me. 

Why would they make fun of you, you are a great dancer?  

I don't know - I'm the new girl. And they all say I'm quiet. And they don't really talk to me. 

Well, what does the song say, you gotta be brave. You gotta show them who you are. 

'How would you know? You're not me. You never had to move. And why did we have to move anyway? This was all for you. You didn't even ask me, ME, if I wanted to move.' 

She cried and I hugged her, but she wiggled away, sat down, and let the tears go. I said it would be okay. To her. To me. But once again, I wondered if it would. 

Margaret and Bobby came up from the basement wondering what was wrong. Why Mary was sad. Ah, that. Helpful or not, they piled on, preaching hope for a brighter future. 

'I made friends right away Mary - it's easy.'

'Yeah, the boys in my class are annoying, Mary, but I like Ada and Stella.'  

Mary got madder. 'So, what. You don't know how I feel. You don't know what it's like in the fourth grade.'  

For the first couple weeks, maybe a whole month, I heard this a lot. And it rotated around. Mary would have a better day, Bobby would have a worse one. Then Bobby great, Mary bad. The kindergarten classroom was the clear winner in terms of integration. It all hurt. I second guessed myself again and again. Did we make a huge mistake? 

September was challenging, October more optimistic, and then November hit. Mary has never been happier. She's made great friends, she's been to birthday parties, she got the lead in the 4th grade play, she's doing well in curriculars and extracurriculars - swimming, tennis and piano. She wakes up every day excited for school. She's outgoing, confident, and blossoming. Bobby and Margaret are also happy - Bobby with a new best friend, a pair of ice skates, and the vision of being a hockey player, Margaret with the cutest group of friends and a social calendar that I can't even keep up with. The babies still don't know what happened, but they like their new surroundings and their days going to museums, the library, zoo and conservatory.  

I started writing this blog almost two months ago, when I started to believe that Mary had demonstrated a tremendous amount of resilience. At this point, I'm proud to say, that she has truly owned how big her brave is. All of them have. Peter too. 

We hosted our cider press party a couple weeks ago, and one of the guests said it well. You seem really settled. And I responded, I think we are. There are still challenges, still learning curves, still people we dearly miss, but we've proven maleable. And I think with it, we've all grown. A little wiser, a little stronger, a little more uniquely us. 

  

       

 

Before the move, everyone told me, kids are resilient. They'll be fine. In honesty, kids aren't automatically that way. They need the right guidance and support system to help them rebound and blossom out of it. The school they are going to, their teachers and the families we've met, their new coaches, our new babysitter and facetiming with our old one, my family, and the role Peter has played in the transition were all vital to our success. And I can't thank all of these stakeholders, particularly Peter enough, for helping my kids see how brave they can be. 

Lo. 

Twin Twos

If I were to reflect on the past two years, one word best describes them. Blurry. A big, old blur. That's my four-word definition. Unlike the years between Mary's birth and turning two where I savored, stowed, and secured the transition from infant to baby to toddler, these years will always be a little less precise in my mental files. 

But two years with twins seems momentous, nonetheless. I can't provide every detail, but there was sweetness, laughter, tears, tired eyes, anger and frustration, sacrifice and reward, resolve and rejoicing. All the celebratory and cringeworthy elements that you want in an epic job well done as parents. The little characters that stole the show (and part of my sanity) accomplished a ton in the past year. And I'm so proud of them.  

They were graduates of speech therapy, going from saying 'woo woo' to saying puppy and now to saying two and three-word sentences. If I may indulge, some of their favorite lines are: 

'Aw, puppy ... woo woo.' 

'Outside. See puppy' 

'Help me Mommy. Get puppy.'

'Please. Puppy!' 

'Oh, that my puppy.' 

'Aw puppy eat.'   

'Ok, go night night, puppy.' 

Basically 95% of their sentences are structured around dogs, but I'll take it. That's progress regardless of the centering theme. 

They went from good little eaters, to insatiable over eaters. They particularly love crumb topped donuts, fruit pouches and fruit snacks, avocados, any kind of meat, cheeeeeese, and ice cream. They are the first ones to come downstairs for dinner and can hear my call, all the way up on the third floor. They know how to say please and thank you after they are served. And they will even bring their plates over to the sink when they are done. 9 times out of 10 the remnants on their plate topple to the ground on the brief walk over, but again, I'll call it a win. 

They love to climb. On anything and everything. Church pews, their high chairs, on the couch in my office, and particularly out of their own cribs. When you hear them giggling on the baby monitor, you know they have done it again. 

They spent the summer swimming and swimming, and Caroline is basically doing the motions of free style in the baby pool. I'm hoping will they stay as fierce and fearless next year. 

They love Cocomelon. Period. 

They are determined and sometimes stubborn in their attitude. They want to do it their way, right away, without assistance. This is particularly true with water bottles, markers, and anything else that will end up making a giant mess and causing total chaos when things go awry. 

As much as they are similar, or identical in look and stature, they are still very much their own person. Caroline is loud. Jacqueline more reserved. Caroline has more the Bobby and Margaret energy level. Jacqueline has Mary's comportment. Caroline will steal Jacqueline's food. Jacqueline will shovel it in her mouth before Caroling can get to it. Caroline sucks on her finger and always wants her very frayed blanket. Jacqueline is weaning off of a pacifier. 

Their connection runs deep though. They are best friends and look after each other. If one has fallen down, the other one rushes over to help her up. 'Help up,' Caroline says. 'Okay,' Jacqueline says. It's just about the cutest thing they do. 

They are both cuddlers. Both give big hugs, nose nuzzles, and plea for you to hold on to them as long as possible. And man, do I love giving them all the love I can offer. 

When I found out that we were having identical twins in 2020, I panicked. I was crying in Walgreens buying extra folic acid, worried about my ability to take care of two more babies at this juncture of life. 

It's blurry, like I said, but somehow, most likely by the grace of God, it has worked. And been a lot of fun. And now they are two. 'TWO!' as Jacqeline will say. Sometimes the two in them is pretty terrible, I'm not going to lie. But more often than not, they are absolutely, positively terrific. 

Happy (belated) second birthday twins - love you.  

Mommy / Lo.