How We Deck Our Halls

When Dave and I were first married, we arrived home flushed and tan from our Hawaiian honeymoon to our adorable apartment just as the calendar was turning over to December. I think I may have mentioned stopping at a grocery store en route from the airport to snag our Christmas tree, so far behind schedule had our late-November nuptials put us. He probably laughed, but then he looked at my face and realized, ohhhh…and thus our first marital conflict was born. Just kidding. Well, sort of.

To say that we were raised in different liturgical traditions wouldn't be accurate, because we were definitely both raised Catholic. But let's just say that one of in-laws were balanced on ladders stringing lights and hanging tinsel before the Thanksgiving turkey had even hit the table, while the other were peacefully contemplating which Christmas tree of the 4 remaining on the lot on Christmas Adam (Christmas Eve eve, y'all. It's the best non-feast day of the entire year) would suffice for the family evergreen.

So we were at an impasse. I think because we were like 17 days man and wife and because he is a wonderful husband, I won the great tree debate of 2009. Obviously we bought a real tree, and obviously we strung and lit that sucker up before the wax had melted on our Advent candles for that year, and obviously it died a cruel, painful death after a few days in our dry, indoor Denver air. But whatever, we kept that bad boy vertical until Epiphany and then kicked it to the curb in an explosion of dry needles and pine pollen. And possibly sparks of actual fire, because it was d.r.y. and dead as hell.

The second year came, and the second dead-before-Advent-commenced Christmas tree followed. Also, Dave accidentally caught our mantle and part of the garland and stocking situation strung there on fire. Because that dead Christmas tree was prime firewood and not to be wasted. (Our landlord never found out, and we managed to scrub all the soot off the walls by the time our lease was up.)

By last year's Christmas, our third of wedded bliss, we had finally devised something of a blended family tradition all our own, and by golly, it looks as though it has stuck. Don't get me wrong, the tree still died a cruel and miserable death far too early into the season, but it wasn't killed by overzealous decorating or liturgical precociousness. It's still just really freaking dry here.

Christmas 2011, pregnant with John Paul and probably in need of a longer hemline.

So our new 'tradition' was born. This year it feels even more effective, if you will, because I have had to be super picky about what we can commit to and what I can reasonably handle with a giant belly and the looming specter of yuletide newborn sleeplessness. Hence, lowered expectations. Here's how it breaks down:

Pre-Advent/last week of November: Begin and (mostly) finish Christmas shopping. We're blessed in that both our families are content with simple 'Secret Santa' exchanges, so each Dave and I are responsible for buying gifts for 1 member of each of our original families, if that makes sense. So that's a total of 4 gifts. In addition to that, we get each other one gift each, and we sometimes decide to give something additionally to our parents. The boys get two gifts each this year, we decided, because we basically bought them the earth and then some in our relocation back to the US earlier this year, and we have a pretty minimal toy policy around here. I also assemble the necessary ingredients for an Advent wreath and we make some kind of game plan for how we're going to keep the penitential aspect of Advent in the forefront. This year it worked out that we could both go to Confession before Mass this morning, so that was perfect.

First Sunday of Advent: We light up the first candle in our wreath (we're going to try to light the appropriate candle every day and say a very, very brief prayer each day this Advent, we'll see how it goes), and we go out and buy the tree. It's sitting decked out with lights in our living room, but we compromise and only light it on major feast days and during Sundays in Advent until Guadete (the pink candle) Sunday. Then it's lights ooooooon till Santa touches down. We also set up our Nativity set, leaving baby Jesus hidden somewhere else in the house, and putting the Wise Men east of the stable (like that?) and Mary and Joseph heading in from the west side. The cows are already chilling crib side. And speaking of Santa Claus…

I still believe. I also love St. Nicholas, so this year for the first time, we had the boys write letters to Santa/St. Nick (totally interchangeable in my twisted mind) asking for prayer intentions to be brought before the baby Jesus and okay, a couple present requests. It's not theologically perfect, but it's better than secular Santa who has basically been relegated to the role of kiddie crack dealer.

We've also told them that if they put their shoes out Thursday evening on the eve of St. Nicholas' feast day, he will take their letters when he drops off their treats. He'll also leave them a little note of encouragement for how they can help prepare their hearts and our home for baby Jesus' arrival. How cool is that? No pretend trip to the mail box or postage to the North Pole. Bam.

(One year I concocted an elaborate Christmas carol/epic poem of sorts involving Santa-ala-St. Nicholas, bishop and mighty defeater of heretics, capturing and subduing with his sleigh-driving whip all our notorious dissenting "Catholic" politicians. Nancy Pelosi was turned into an enslaved reindeer and forced to pull the sleigh as part of her penance. It was all very disturbing to my audience, I'm sure.)

Second Sunday of Advent: We add ornaments to the tree. By this point our parish usually has their giving tree ornaments up too, so we select a family to sponsor and take a really, really fun trip to Target where we buy presents for 'our' family. I love the way our parish does this ministry because 1. you get to choose the family size you can sponsor (we like to pick a family the same size and in close ages to our own kids) and 2. you get to wrap the presents you buy for them. We also like to write Christmas messages to our family and maybe this year I'll actually think to write down all their names so we can pray for them all season. Work in progress here. We generally spend a decent amount of money doing this, which is part of the reason our gift-giving within our own home is limited. It helps bring balance to the season for us, and I hope it gives the kids a more realistic view of what Christmas really stands for.

Third Sunday of Advent (Guadete): Rejoice! He's coming! Lights on, presents all wrapped and stashed, remaining shopping odds and ends finished up, and perhaps another trip to the Confessional if necessary to prepare for Christmas.

Fourth Sunday of Advent: We top the tree. This year we'll need to buy a new star, and actually our 8 foot Costco beauty is already scratching at the ceiling, but I'm sure we'll come up with something. From here on out it's game time, and any remaining details will most definitely need to be checked off the list, because I plan on being in labor at this point. We shall see.

Christmas Adam: (it's a real holiday in my family) Christmas begins a teensy bit early. Crank the speakers, it's time to play Christmas music and drink awful mulled wine (gluvine, if you're being technical.) I am going to try really hard not to listen to Christmas music during Advent this year, to the extent that I can control it, and I'm looking forward to breaking that little 'fast' on the eve of the big Eve. Get it? Christmas Adam.

Christmas Eve: Candlelight Mass, stockings hung, Mary and Jesus arrive at hotel nativity, and kiddos are slammed to bed in anticipation of baby Jesus' arrival, heralded by Santa himself. Candlelight Mass is probably wildly optimistic this year, but we'll see how much longer this gestational situation can drag itself out.

Christmas Day: Party up in heeeeeere. Mass in the morning if we didn't make it the night before, followed by stockings and presents. I'll be celebrating with adult substances for sure, either via a narcotic dripping into the space surrounding my spinal column or a huge glass of wine perched on my lap, along with my already 2-week-old daughter who is definitely going to be sleeping through the night. Ha ha haaaaaaappy holidays to you all. That's how we do. Congrats if you made it to the festive end.

p.s. Thank you for your prayers for baby Lily. She is improving every day so keep them coming!

The Secular and Sacred

I didn't really know 'doing' Halloween versus opting out was such a hot button topic until this year. Growing up we wouldn't have dreamed of missing out on trick or treating, (hence my participation as one of the Spice Girls when I was in TENTH grade. Somebody should have punched me and my 4 co-conspirators off their front porch steps in retrospect.) but we weren't allowed to be anything 'creepy' or evil, which was loosely defined as being of the occult. So witches, vampires, and Satan himself were out, but pretty much anything else was in.

I guess I saw fit to continue allowing my children to participate in this vein, since we're both citizens of the kingdom of Heaven (hopefully) and also of the kingdom of man. I mean, we celebrate all the other secular holidays too, and Thanksgiving is pretty close to the tip top favorite of my list, so I don't see why we can't kick off the holiday season October 31st. Plus, I read this fabulous piece last week and was like, yeah, see, this ain't no stinking pagan ritual. So there, Hallmark channel.

All that being said, I hate horror anything. The last horror movie I saw on purpose was The Glass House, I think, and it was on a semi-blind date with a townie from Steubenville who ended up being slightly underaged, a fact that didn't reveal itself until the moment he ordered up a Mountain Dew to match my Yvengling at our fine dinner beforehand at Applebee's. The moral of the story: horror movies are awful. Also, I don't do well with blood or surprises. Ask me how parenting is going so far...

Without further ado, here is photographic evidence that my will to participate in seasonal festivities has not been totally thwarted by pregnancy hormones. Yet.

Exhibit A: Superman and the duck.

Exhibit B: St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, and St. Ignatius of Antioch, bishop and martyr.

Please note the bloodied cannonball protruding from Loyola's knee, and the blood-thirsty lion clinging to Antioch's back. You know, he did pray to be ground in the teeth of the lions that his body may become the wheat for God. Or something pretty close to that.

We trick-or-treated on Thursday night (or rather, Dave and Joey hit the block while JP and I retired after visiting one solitary house, at which point I elected to wait in a bubble bath until Joey brought me his candy to "gluten screen." Poor kid, can't eat a single Twix, I simply had to help him out...)

On Friday morning we lined up all our saint dolls and icons on the kitchen table, lit a bunch of candles, and made pumpkin chocolate chip pancakes while rocking out to this tune over and over again before hitting up an ill-planned noon Mass.

Some of our saintly crew.

We hit up an even more awesome Feast that night with our friends the Servants of Christ Jesus, where many, many calories were consumed, bonfires were admired, and where Ignatius of Antioch took home the night's top prize for best costume because, come on, a bloody lion.

The next day we paid a quick visit to the Adoration chapel at a nearby parish to pray for our deceased friends and relatives and all the holy souls in Purgatory, and then Target. Because everyone knows that Target on a Saturday morning is a kind of preparation for Purgatory, especially when you bring along your husband and a pair of hangry toddlers.

So there you have it, my two cents into the Catholic blogosphere on the nature of Halloween, and why it's totally cool to nerd out and celebrate the trifecta of Hallow/Saints/Souls Days.

Slowing Down

This past weekend saw lots of couch lying and bath-soaking on my part, with sprinklings of football and pumpkin carving. Pretty much the perfect recipe for fall, except that I spent most of it lying down watching from the sidelines.

Mommy crack.

This has been the easiest pregnancy so far, hands down, except for this past week, during which it has become painfully (ha) clear that I'm overdoing it, over extended, and over committed. When I realized sometime around 4 pm Friday that I can no longer comfortably carry either boy for longer than 15 seconds, it occurred to me that I'd better embrace this newfound infirmity before it progresses because 7 weeks is a looooong time for mommy to be out of commission.

After a glorious trip to the chiropractor this morning and lots of 'no's' to stuff I would otherwise have loved to accomplish over the weekend, I'm feeling less like I've been in a crippling car accident and more like I'm just 8 months pregnant. For the third time in four years. I always forget this part at the end where the gym doesn't soothe what ails me, but rather seems to inflame what aches me. Still, I am committed to the socialization of my pre-schoolers 90 glorious and child free minutes each afternoon between me and HGTV, so I'll probably keep going if only to creep along on a treadmill to the sound of bad pop music while my offspring learn important life lessons like how many consecutive loops of Cars can they rack up before the movie gets switched to some other animated masterpiece, and how many kids there are in the world named Hadley/Peyton/Hunter whose gender is a mystery revealed only by the sparkles on their footwear. Or lack thereof.

We've been doing lots of crafty things like shoving pipe cleaners in colanders, cutting newspapers into shreds with safety scissors, and gluing pieces of paper to other pieces of paper. Oh, and making lots and lots of buntings. To hang in every room. Pretty much 110% stimulating for all parties involved. 

Put a bunting on it.

One thing I am inordinately proud of is the slightly ghetto "Mass kit" I cobbled together via my favorite recycled retail establishment, which Joey has fallen deeply and profoundly in love with. 

I give him water to make wine with (he's a miraculous little chap) and rice crackers for hosts, and then he spreads his goods across the 'altar' of our coffee table and goes to town. 

Old liturgy of the hours book (breviary?), Spanish silver(!) 'chalices,' World Market coasters-turned-patens, and some assorted glassware for purification purposes. And of course Target RE brand altar clothes and purificators. Only the finest in liturgical vesting in this house. Bananas optional.

He begs me to read parts of the Eucharistic prayers to him and then he parrots them back and let me tell you right now: hearing a 3 year old solemnly intone "take this bwead, Lord" is the best thing you've ever laid ears on.

Stripes, the other liturgical color.

He is still not super engaged at actual Mass, but boy does he love calling the shots from his mini sanctuary in the living room. (Lest any vocational predictions arise, he also spends about 60% of the time he's 'saying' Mass talking about how he is going to be a daddy, so we're thinking he's got a Byzantine streak...)

Fr. Joseph and his faithful deacon, "Garry"

I'm trying to consciously choose what stays and what gives as we head into this most favorite of liturgical seasons (mine, anyway) and so far that looks like no gift-giving (aside from the bare minimum), no Christmas cards (in lieu of early January birth announcements), and a very limited social engagements calendar punctuated by the occasional dinner party, feast day celebration, baby shower and bridal shower. So far all my siblings and I have planned fall/winter weddings, which is both weird and fun, and that coupled with the 10 immediate family birthdays we have from September-January means crazy partying all yuletide long. So, let the games begin. I might be watching from the couch, and I might be planning to let my 3-year-old trick or treat in his Superman pajamas on Thursday night. In light snow. Lowered expectations, I've got 'em.

John Paul II, We Love You!

Thanks to Simcha I didn't miss my second born's namesake feast day, and we even cued her handy playlist for their lunchtime enjoyment/homeschooling lesson for the day week. Joey solemnly proclaimed that he 'loved this song, Mommy' while listening to Bl. JPII intone the Pater Noster in Basilica San Pietro during a papal mass all those years ago. He did not, however, recognize the church in question as St. Peter's, a sorrow that is breaking his pregnant mama's heart. Rome is fading fast from his 3-year-old mind, and the days that he asks me to teach him Italian words are fewer and farther between. I wonder if he'll remember much of anything from our time there...

I'm thinking about getting crazy and making JPII's favorite dessert for us to feast upon tonight, except for the tiny detail that I don't like baking and Dave will be at work until 10 pm. Perhaps I'll just spread butter and honey on something and call it Polish.

Taking a page out of Colleen's blog, please enjoy these gratuitous pictures of my John Paul dressed as JPII, and of both my boys 'meeting' our hero in Rome.

Maximilian Kolbe and John Paul, rocking (but somehow, losing) last year's All Saints Day costume contest.

Joey and Bl. JPII arriving at Fiumincino before the beatification. 

Nothing creepy about this ...

Joey is escorted by some San Pietrini ushers to touch the (newly installed) tomb of Bl. JPII the day after his beatification.

And John Paul touching the same tomb one year later. God is good.

Blessed JPII, pray for us!

(Thank you for all your prayers for the family I wrote about yesterday. Please keep them coming as they lay their little one to rest tomorrow.)