“Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.” – A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
Category: Holidays
Halloween Past was something like this:
Costumes (of course), most purchased but some homemade. When they were young, my boys had simple requests – Ninjas, superheroes, knights in shining armor – options that could be found at the store and required minimal effort. As they got older, they became more creative, adding their own details to the purchased supplies.The last few years that he went trick-or-treating, my youngest son insisted on creating his own costume inventions with cardboard boxes and paint and wires. The results didn’t always turn out exactly as he envisioned, but they were still impressive.
Parties, at home and elsewhere. Many years ago, my husband and I hosted a party at our house far out in the country, set back in the woods. We were concerned that people wouldn’t want to make the drive, but the house ended up full. We had fun eating and drinking, talking and dancing among the ghosts and spiderwebs and skeletons.
Contests to determine the best pumpkin carvings, the best costumes, the best decorations. One of my favorite work memories is from the year the movie Twister came out, and we decorated our work space accordingly. It was quite elaborate, with fans blowing and papers flapping. We even crafted Christmas ornaments to resemble the data-collecting balls that the Twister team risked their lives to activate. When the contest judges came through, we acted out our characters, hanging on to the our chairs and desks, pretending to be blowing in the wind.
Trick-or-treaters, sometimes in groups of ten or 15 at a time, a constant stream of costumed kiddos knocking on the door, holding out their bags, saying the magical words. We used to have neighbors a few houses down the street who’d put out an elaborate display of crazy clowns and other creepy stuff. They called it the Psycho Circus, and it drew people from miles around. After they were done checking it out, parents would shepherd their kids to the other houses on the block to gather candy. Those neighbors moved a few years ago, taking the Psycho Circus with them, and the Halloween crowds as well. But we continue to get good numbers of trick-or-treaters every year, not as many as before, but enough that it is always wisest to stock up on candy.
Halloween Present is very different.
My sons are grown, too old for trick-or-treating, not interested in costumes. Parties are an unwise choice right now. Work-related festivities vanished with remote requirements and furloughs and job losses.
Still…we will have fun. Our front yard now contains a spooky battle scene, complete with a large dragon, skeletons, and swords. We’ll do our best to facilitate socially-distanced candy distribution, wearing masks and using hand sanitizer each time we replenish the bowl on the table at the end of our driveway, just in case anybody stops by. We’ll watch scary movies and eat popcorn and enjoy being together, grateful for what we have – our health, our home, our family.
Different can still be good.
I’m not a slippers person; I typically wear socks when I’m hanging out at home.
This morning, the pair I grabbed in the dark, as I stumbled from bed, were my Christmas Reindeer Socks. They were a gift from a friend several years ago. They are soft, and warm, and cozy, and they make me smile whenever I wear them.
Some of the smile is because they are whimsical socks, and some of the smile is because I am thinking of my friendship. It’s a good combination. It’s a good way to start the day.
To go along with the Christmas Reindeer Socks, the appropriate cuppa is the Christmas Snowman Cuppa. A little Christmas in July.
Ho-ho-ho and happy Friday.
Today, I think of the lessons I’ve learned from my father and my husband.
First, my father.
We didn’t always agree with each other. As a child, I thought he knew everything. As I grew older, I realized he did not. At times, this realization led to frustration and angry words from both of us, careful avoidance and emotional distance between us.
The love was always there, however.
He wasn’t a “warm and fuzzy” kind of dad; he showed his love by taking care of things. Before Google, before Siri, I had Dad. He’d find phone numbers, make appointments, and gather all the details. Nothing made him happier than feeling like he’d fixed a problem or found the answer. My conversations with him typically ended with him saying, “What can I do for you, sweet love?”
At the end of his life, when we both knew that his time was short, the love is what filled our hours together. We shared memories, pictures, letters, tokens. His favorite childhood toys, packed in a box. His college yearbooks. A uniform, a quilt, some newspaper clippings. He entrusted me with these things and experiences that illustrated his time on this earth, told his life story; what he did and the people he knew.
My father taught me many things. Top of mind today is what I learned from those days together not so long ago – that love matters most. It doesn’t erase the mistakes or the failures, doesn’t absolve us from being accountable for our choices. But it does provide shelter and warmth and connection, perspective and forgiveness.
Love is what will be remembered. Love matters most.
And now, my husband.
My husband views fatherhood through a lens of joy and delight.
“Parenting” isn’t always fun. “Parenting” involves rules and routines, schedules and plans. It requires words like no and careful and wait and stop. It brings sleepless nights, temper tantrums, anxious worry. Raising young humans tests your patience and your coping skills.
Being a parent, on the other hand, can be a lot of fun. Being a parent means that you get to play again, like you did as a child. Build forts and sand castles, go on treasure hunts, dig in the dirt, search for bugs. Read stories, solve puzzles, laugh and sing together. Talk in funny voices at the dinner table. Make up adventures and create imaginary worlds to explore. And the best part is that your playmates are people you love in a way you never thought possible before now.
This is the way my husband views fatherhood. It is the father that he strives to be and the father that he is. It is one of his most meaningful lessons – to revel in the joy and delight of parenthood. Celebrate the experience, enjoy the ride, even if there are toys on the floor or crumbs on the counter.
Responsibility and safety come first, of course. He is wise, and he is protective. But he never forgets that being a parent can be magical.
I see that magic when I watch him with our sons. I hear the laughter that they share in silly moments. I listen as they describe their adventures together and engage in deep conversations about everything from the stars and geology to dragons and castles. I notice how my sons trust their father with their ideas, knowing that he sees their potential and will do everything he can to find a way. It makes my heart sing.
Encourage the magic, believe in it and make it possible. Focus on and share the delight and the happiness it brings. That is where the joy of parenthood lives.
Happy Father’s Day.
When I was a little girl, my mother would sometimes sing me to sleep.
Her voice was warm, with a soothing edge, and she’d gently rub my back while she sang. As I listened, I imagined a soft darkness flying overhead, tinged with mellow orange and yellow, peacefully cloaking the world. Then she’d kiss me goodnight, and she’d leave the room with the door slightly ajar to provide a sliver of light from the hallway.
I didn’t inherit my mom’s singing abilities, but my boys and I had our own bedtime rituals.
For my oldest, it was glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling and holding hands while we whispered stories to each other, some true, some imaginary.
For my second son, it was rocking chair snuggles with my off-key lullabies, sometimes songs that we knew, sometimes songs that we made up together.
And for my youngest, it was books, and books, and more books – the best ones being those that involved the two of us searching for something or counting something or being part of the narrative in some other way as we cuddled together against the pillows.
Treasured moments, each one. Simple acts of timeless love and peaceful joy.
Happy Mother’s Day.
A Daily Cuppa 