This morning, minutes before our crew of ballerinas headed out for their first performance of the Nutcracker, as we were all still seated at the breakfast table, I felt the need to inform our children that this Christmas would be different. It was probably not the best time, as half of our family needed to rush to our van, grabbing last minute bobby pins and snacks on the way out the front door. But breakfasts are the only guaranteed time of day right now where our entire family is together. Our breakfast table is sacred; our Family Time’s final stand in these nut-cracking times (purely a reference to the ballet our kids our in, no double meaning intended…). So it was probably the best time to break the news.
Jessica and I proceeded to explain that buying furniture and warmer clothes, coats and boots, coupled with all the expenses related to the magical holiday ballet they’re involved in, both of these together formed a one-two punch straight to our bank account, and effectively knocked it out. We considered waiting and putting some of those warm clothes under our Christmas tree, but felt that they were needed right away and just couldn’t wait. Necessity being the mother of invention, Jessica and I naturally sought out even more ways we could craft a Christmas morning full of meaningful and love-filled gifts wrought by our own fingers. Lists of knitted hats, scarves, ear-warming headbands, as well as decorations from old pallets, quickly formed, and we simply committed to burning the midnight oil together as our family’s own living room Christmas elves. We quickly got right down to it, each of us eagerly starting on a simple knitting project; a bulky cowl for her, and a ribbed headband with a simple twist in the middle for keeping ears warm for me.
This worked well for a couple of nights, but the impact of early mornings, packed days, and late nights slammed into us. We think we can just will our way through fatigue; that exhaustion is for the weak. We are parents. We are strong. Especially when it comes to our children. We are mama and papa bears. We can do anything.
We are wrong.
Even our crafty fingers can’t hold our Christmas tradition together. We recognize that we can’t just conjure more money out of thin air. But we now face the reality that we have real limits when it comes to time and energy as well. The romantic notion of burning the midnight oil together, with Christmas music playing, sipping wine, telling stories and laughing all the way, simply cannot survive for long. It quickly fades to bleary eyes, yawns, determined and tired looks, nodding off, and being disappointed that we can’t will our bodies to stay awake and focused for long without adequate sleep.
All to ensure that our children won’t be too disappointed on Christmas morning. And that’s just it. Our children are always content with the few carefully selected items that we invest time and/or money into. It’s not like they expect extravagance. They’ve never had that, and we are blessed by how happy and content they are with how simple our celebration has been.
And so, when I shared the news with them this morning that this year would be even less, there was silence as they took it in, but it was clear that the two most disappointed people at the table weren’t the kids. It was their parents.
Jessica and I, fighting back tears, explained the reality of our situation to them, and the only sadness our children demonstrated came from a desire to comfort us, their parents. I’m sure they each have their own level of disappointment to deal with; or they will have soon. And we’re ready to hear them out, comfort them, and be sad with them. But for today, Jessica and I are the ones that are the most disappointed. We mourn the death of our tradition. It was simple, but just right. We worked hard to develop it and have honed it through the years to be full of meaning and beauty. We have simmered it down to a sweet elixir for our family’s soul. It was close to perfection, and the delicate balance would be completely altered with any extra elements, and definitely with any taken away.
It was never extravagant, but it was consistent; and as such, full of expectation. We expected every year to basically be the same, with small tweaks or alterations. It’s so interesting how much we grow attached to tradition, however lavish or simple it may be. And how difficult it is to let go of those expectations; of that tradition.
Jessica and I feel that loss intensely. We expect that our children will too, in just a few days, which is why I felt the need to prepare them for it today. And our kids blew me away, selflessly caring more about their parents feelings than their own. And so, even as I grieve, I feel so blessed to have such loving children, and it is such a comfort to me. I’m still not exactly sure what our Christmas will be like, but whatever it ends up being, I will have the most amazing people with me, and I pray to God that we can each come to the place where that enough; where that is all that matters.
~ Jeremy
Blown away by the Martin-Weber family… amazing parents raising beautiful children from the inside out. My Christmas wish: that others will learn from you, growing in love and grace; I know I have. I also wish we were in Oregon this Christmas….
Wow. What a beautiful post. You truly are a wonderful family. A you have a lovely way with prose.
I was thinking today about what a gift it was for your family to be able to move all the way to Portland to support the dreams of your family. I know it was really hard, and Christmas is certainly a time you feel that. I am reminded that the things I think are important to other people, like gifts, are usually second to the time we spend together, and they often would rather that I’m not overwhelmed.