Imagining Christmas
I’m excited for Christmas this year. Of course, I look forward to it every year—the chance to travel home to see our families, pulling out the Christmas ornaments I’ve collected from all over the world—but this year it will be particularly fun since Lucia is now part of the family. We’ll be going to Jacksonville for Christmas Day and Connellsville for post-Christmas, and everyone is immensely excited to see the little one.
Right now, of course, Lucia’s too little to understand Christmas, and she’ll likely spend the holiday as she spends other days—eating, sleeping, crying, playing on her back, and gazing around at various things. But I can’t help imagining the years ahead, when she’ll be fully cognizant of what’s happening, when she’ll be as excited as any other kid counting down to Christmas morning.
On the one hand, I dread some of the complications that will come along with this awareness. I’ve been reading reports of this year’s hottest toy—the Zhu Zhu Pet—and how it’s nearly impossible to obtain. Who knows what the elusive toy will be when Lucia’s old enough to want it—but I can see me and Andrew all too clearly scrambling to find it for her, calling every store within a hundred miles, rushing out in the hopes of getting the last one on the shelves. And, of course, there will be all the toys she wants but that we won’t want to get for her, i.e. anything video game-based or related to social networking. Will we stand on principle, or give in? I still remember a “commercial” toy I coveted when I was very little—Dolly Pops. I did not receive it for Christmas. I don’t remember what Dolly Pops were, and I remember very well all the other fabulous things Mom and Dad did get me over the years—in other words, I haven’t been scarred. But it’s worrisome that I still remember this one withheld toy. What will Lucia remember when she’s thirty-three—what one insignificant but memorable thing will she be denied (wisely, but denied nonetheless)?
Now that I think about it, these seem to me like challenges that are not Christmas-specific. There will always be something desired but unavailable, something coveted but inappropriate. I can’t imagine ever denying this little one anything she wants, but I know very well I will. (And should.)
Imagining future Christmases with Lucia also brings to mind how fun it will be to play Santa—and to see her happy little face on Christmas morning, rifling through her stocking and opening the presents we’ve chosen for her. But more than this—to decorate a tree with her, bring out decorations she’ll look forward to from year to year, bake gingerbread and Christmas cutouts, and make snowmen and snow angels throughout the season. (Obviously it goes without saying that my Christmas imaginings take place exclusively in the Northeast.) I can imagine her coming in from the cold, red-cheeked, ready for a warm cup of hot cocoa; I can imagine her excitedly climbing into a car or boarding a plane to visit her grandparents. I look forward to all of this—but it also kind of overwhelms me to realize that it’s me and Andrew who are responsible for making her happy. Again, this is an everyday challenge, not just a Christmas one. But my own holidays were always so memorable; and I want hers to be as well.
It all kind of rushed in at me when I saw this smile. This will be the reward for all the snowy hallways mopped up from snow-caked boots, for all the miles traveled to secure a Zhu Zhu Pet equivalent, for all the frantic airport navigating. This is the face that will make it all worthwhile:
Right now, of course, Lucia’s too little to understand Christmas, and she’ll likely spend the holiday as she spends other days—eating, sleeping, crying, playing on her back, and gazing around at various things. But I can’t help imagining the years ahead, when she’ll be fully cognizant of what’s happening, when she’ll be as excited as any other kid counting down to Christmas morning.
On the one hand, I dread some of the complications that will come along with this awareness. I’ve been reading reports of this year’s hottest toy—the Zhu Zhu Pet—and how it’s nearly impossible to obtain. Who knows what the elusive toy will be when Lucia’s old enough to want it—but I can see me and Andrew all too clearly scrambling to find it for her, calling every store within a hundred miles, rushing out in the hopes of getting the last one on the shelves. And, of course, there will be all the toys she wants but that we won’t want to get for her, i.e. anything video game-based or related to social networking. Will we stand on principle, or give in? I still remember a “commercial” toy I coveted when I was very little—Dolly Pops. I did not receive it for Christmas. I don’t remember what Dolly Pops were, and I remember very well all the other fabulous things Mom and Dad did get me over the years—in other words, I haven’t been scarred. But it’s worrisome that I still remember this one withheld toy. What will Lucia remember when she’s thirty-three—what one insignificant but memorable thing will she be denied (wisely, but denied nonetheless)?
Now that I think about it, these seem to me like challenges that are not Christmas-specific. There will always be something desired but unavailable, something coveted but inappropriate. I can’t imagine ever denying this little one anything she wants, but I know very well I will. (And should.)
Imagining future Christmases with Lucia also brings to mind how fun it will be to play Santa—and to see her happy little face on Christmas morning, rifling through her stocking and opening the presents we’ve chosen for her. But more than this—to decorate a tree with her, bring out decorations she’ll look forward to from year to year, bake gingerbread and Christmas cutouts, and make snowmen and snow angels throughout the season. (Obviously it goes without saying that my Christmas imaginings take place exclusively in the Northeast.) I can imagine her coming in from the cold, red-cheeked, ready for a warm cup of hot cocoa; I can imagine her excitedly climbing into a car or boarding a plane to visit her grandparents. I look forward to all of this—but it also kind of overwhelms me to realize that it’s me and Andrew who are responsible for making her happy. Again, this is an everyday challenge, not just a Christmas one. But my own holidays were always so memorable; and I want hers to be as well.
It all kind of rushed in at me when I saw this smile. This will be the reward for all the snowy hallways mopped up from snow-caked boots, for all the miles traveled to secure a Zhu Zhu Pet equivalent, for all the frantic airport navigating. This is the face that will make it all worthwhile:
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