Over Christmas

I sometimes feel like it's a shame that Christmas falls at the beginning of the winter. I get why it is when it is . . . the merging of the Christian celebration with the Winter Solstice. But, I just feel like with Thanksgiving and New Year's hovering around it, the Holidays are filled with fun wintery good cheer, and then there is THE REST OF THE GODFORSAKEN WINTER to live through. Seriously, it pains me to look at all of the fluffy snow and think, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, . . . except there's no Christmas right now." The void, added to the unyielding cold, is too much. We should just put Christmas on January 25. Problem solved. By the time the whole post-holiday celebration was over, we'd be almost done. We'd be so re-energized with good will that we could take on that short, thug of a month, February. I don't mean to be Christian-centric either (although decidedly Norhtern-centric.) Hanukkah could move . . . with Kwanza, Ramadan. Give all of the willing a chance to move something important to January.

Seriously, there is a dirth of celebrating from Jan 1 until Spring. It's like a cruel joke to ring in the New Year as though you're happy about it when you actually know that the next two months of this great "new year" are going to suck.

Valentines Day is hardly a holiday to look forward to with much anticipation. Don't get me wrong. I try. We do heart crafts. We exchange little presents. But, there's no Dickens to read along with it. No Santa. No radio stations devoted to the endless playing of Valentines tunes. It's an excuse to eat/ give candy.

This year, we do plan on celebrating Chinese New Year. And, that might fill my void. But, it's uncharted territory for me.

Granted, it might be particularly painful for our family this year because of my husband's decision for tree removal.

We are burning it.

Branch by branch.

Amidst the children's cries for their beloved tree, my husband told them, "I'm not hurting the Christmas tree. I'm using it to make the house warm."

I supported him despite my cringing at the sight. "It's Happy Wood. It's better than throwing it away."

But, there is still the image of the tree in our living room, ornaments gone, half of the branches eaten away, like the grinch has come and, well, eaten half the tree. And there's the image of something gone terribly wrong with the pine needles shooting huge flames right there in Santa's toy chute. The horror.

Understanding

Graham loves trains. That's an understatement. He plays, dreams, thinks, reads (well, is read to), talks, thinks, breathes trains.

Trains are a source of great joy, and great angst for him. We have a family rule: we share the toys. For a great deal of his life this has worked to Graham's advantage. And, as he has been reminded frequently, his sister is actually not a huge threat to his train-playing liberties. He apparently sees things differently. Out of the blue in conversation Graham has been repeating a troubling thought.

Says Graham: I wish I didn't have a sister. Do you know why?

Mother: Um, why? (With a tone of angst, noting that the troublesome sister is strapped in next to him. Is it really fair to pursue this conversation?)

Graham: Because, um, I don't wike to share my twains with her.

Greta: Graham, I don't even like trains. (Which is sort of true.) Well, I only like the girl trains. Molly and Lady are my trains.

Graham: But, I really, really like trains. I really, really like Molly.

Mother: That's OK, Graham. You can play with them.


Thankfully, Greta has yet to hammer him with why she could do without a little brother too. And, working to her advantage in the fair-train play department, Graham recieved a set of tracks that he has yet to master himself. Greta, however, has no trouble. Imagine his quandry when she approached him saying, "Graham, do you want to set up the racing Thomas set in the kitchen? Then, Molly and Thomas can race."

"O KAYYYYY." Graham literally gallopped about with enthusiasm as his siter began to set up the track.

Then, at the ripe old age of two 1/2, Graham must have realized the incongruency of his emotions. He said, "Greta sometimes I joke about I don't like you to pway with my twains. I just telling you a joke." He really said it. (She was so over it already, Graham, but my heart melted.)

Like all happy endings, though, Graham's warm and fuzzy feelings toward his sister faded quickly. Today, on our way to Barnes and Oboe (I will never go back to Noble), Graham told Greta, "You are going to go find fairy books, and I'm going to pway twains, Greta. Do you understand me?"

Of course, she understood him far too well. She marched right past all of her favorite books and grabbed a train right off the bat. To which Graham chimed in with, "No. This is not what I understand."

It's hard, Buddy.