Explaining Christmas

My family raised me in a non-religious household, despite a Jewish AND somewhat Christian lineage. So we celebrated numerous holidays along with the rest of America, learning a bit here and there about the traditions that started them. And then I went to a private, Catholic high school where I got the bejezzus scared out of me the first time my peers collectively bellowed the appropriate chants during mass. What was this whole religion thing and am I missing out on anything?

Since then I have taken some classes about different world religions, attended synagogue, other churches, meditations and done some more readings. While I have deduced that an organized religion does not align with my beliefs, we have created a spiritual household where we pray before we eat, try to meditate, and regularly give thanks for the blessings we have received. Yet we still celebrate some of the religious traditions adopted by Americans, such as Easter, Hanukkah, and especially Christmas.

Now that Cali is 22 months and very aware of her surroundings, we are now finding ourselves explaining these traditions. I dig deep into the cobwebs of my memory to extract some story I can relate to her about about the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, the three wise men and some myrrh. I then find myself adding a little bit more that I've lovingly picked up during my bout at UC Santa Cruz about how Christians traditionally celebrate Christmas, but that American companies have capitalized on the holiday and now people find themselves exploiting the spirit of giving they search for sales at big box stores like WalMart (that not only exploit the American worker with the highest percentage of worker suits than any other company, as well as lead to the demise of many small towns) and giving something that has no real thought or meaning to loved ones that has been made by children in China versus handmade by local artisans. Cali looks at me with a wrinkled brow and repeats my last phrase of "made by China." Sweet. Glad that is what stuck.

It's just who I am; I can't tell her just the standard American explanation of these happenings. I feel like I am not telling her the whole truth. So Cali is getting the regular description along with the DVD version of "the makings of." And so the Santa Claus figure has two explanations. 1.), because he freaked her out since she was scared by our postal worker who has white hair, a white beard, and only one eye and 2.), so she learns what the other kids learn about Santa. Telling her he is not real, but is a make-believe character to help us think about the spirit of giving helped mellow her apprehension of some white-haired, jolly man coming into the house unannounced. Further explaining that the postal worker with one eye is just a nice man who had an accident is NOT Santa also helped calm her. And once we went to our first Christmas party of the year where she received many presents, the whole "Santa brings presents and he is good" thing really stuck. Now she is waiting for the 25th day of December for Santa to come bring presents to good girls.

It's fun playing along, yet weird deciding what to say. And so I have embarked on this journey explaining what I know to my daughter in the most gentle, truthful, and playful way I can. (Though it does leave me dreading the talk about "did you ever drink at parties, Mom?")

Tantrums and the two's

Shizer! My daughter is good at a lot of things. She is just under two and she can already draw faces, say the ABC's and count to 20. I'm impressed. But what she is really good at is throwing a tantrum. In fact, if colleges gave scholarships to toddlers based on the passion they show in a tantrum, my daughter would have a full ride and a master's degree paid for.

No one believes me though. They see those hazel eyes, those adorable cheeks, and the cute "I want that, please" look that she has been practicing regularly. When I tell people she's a screamer, they think I am crazy. And for the most part, she is a good girl. But once in a while, (or should I say once a day), the "please Mommy" and "no, Sweetie" end in a whirlwind of screaming, thrashing and ear-piercing "no's" that leave my husband and I no choice but time-outs.

And so time-outs are a regular happening in my household. We count to three and then say "Okay, you can have some time for yourself in time-out." As we bring her into her room and place her in her crib we try to explain why she is having a time out. We leave her with a few books and dolls and tell her we will be back in three minutes after she has some time to get out her anger. We explain it's okay to be angry, but not everyone wants to have it be part of their experience so she can do it by herself. And while it pained me to do it at first, listening to the helpless cries and yelps, I now find that she quiets faster and listens more when we ask her if she needs a time-out. Previously our tactic was to sit close by and be there for her, but she would just hit, thrash and continue on for over 15 minutes. When she starts to freak out, we now say, "that is not how we communicate in this family. What do you need and what is a better way to ask?" Since she has a large vocabulary and knows a lot of sign language, she can usually explain the problem. When she whimpers, we reiterate that whining is not an effective way to communicate or get what you want. Simply ask nice and say please.

Maybe this is too disciplined or too loose... I don't know. But it works for our family (so far). And I prefer it to being hit or the ear-piercing screams (which had oddly seemed to contribute to my husband's hearing loss more than his pre-baby guitar playing).

Illustration: "Wahhhhhh" copyright 2009 Sara Zimmerman

I used to have a memory

Pre-baby I had a memory. And I thought I had a good one. For instance, I could juggle a hectic day filled with phone calls, to-dos, and deadlines and not miss a task and then rock out in my band with over 30 memorized songs. Now, post-baby, my memory has gone to the dogs.

I didn't really notice it for awhile. I thought the arguments with my husband over who said what and who did this and that "remember?" were reminiscent of the same ones we've had year after year after year. It only came to my awareness recently when I joined the band again.

I mean it's one thing when you ask the guitarist "how does this song start again?" But it's another when you have to ask prior to EVERY single song. I have now realized that I have to result to my drummer back-up plan of using notes. I use notes all day long with my graphic/web design/illustration business. In fact, my husband even linked my iCalendar with my cell phone with notes from my email so I can't loose them (no more excuses). So I think the song notes will help. The only issue is that drummers rarely write music notation so now I have to remember that.

Compromise

I think back on it now on how concerned I was that my child not have any pesticides enter through my bloodstream. Oh, the good 'ol days. That was back pre-recession. Now I do my best, but can now only afford to buy organic so much. At first I felt horribly guilty, that I was feeding her poison and was contributing to farmland soil degradation, etc. But as someone I respect so much told me, "aim to do things at the standards you want 80% of the time- any higher than that will drive you to insanity." So, that said, as novel as organic American cheese is, we're now settling for regular cheddar. And as a past acupuncturist argued: "conventional cheddar is better than organic American- one is milk-based, the other is oil-based." All in all, this whole motherhood thing has taught me a lot about making compromises: that 1.) sometimes my high standards have to be shelved so our family can actually eat and 2.) it's okay be choosy about the compromises I am willing to make so that I can still maintain integrity but also have some fun in the meantime.