Sunday, December 19, 2010

it's okay santa, we still believe

The other day I was reading the posts of many moms on a popular facebook page that I subscribe to. The question was basically, to Santa, or not to Santa? The question of whether people bring Santa into the picture. The idea that if one believes in Santa, they are missing the point, not celebrating the true meaning of Christmas, which is the birth of Jesus Christ. I make no judgments either way, at least not now anyway.
I remember my sister and I whispering to each other in church years ago, saying, "What's wrong with these people? They don't even know when to sit or stand!" These people, those people, the people that don't go to church every Sunday. The people that we call Christmas and Easter Catholics, 
aka "C and E". 
I've gone to church my whole life. I know when to sit and stand, to recite the Our Father, and even when to jingle the bells (I was one of the first altar girls at my church way back when). I find gratitude in going to church, and yet, I find myself a C and E Catholic. I'd like to go more often. I miss going. It's difficult when Erik is not Catholic and most often praying that the little white ball lands on the green, rather than asking for forgiveness of his sins. I plan on changing this in our lives (the going to church part, not Erik becoming Catholic), but until then, I reside in the land of C and E. I don't love Jesus any less, and I am still strong in my faith. I teach my children the true meaning of Christmas and whether they truly understand is another story, but at least they are exposed at an early age. 
All this being said, I grew up in a household where Santa came down the chimney and we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus at midnight mass. And you know what? I think it's the best of both worlds. 
I believe in the magic of Christmas:
 the excitement of approaching the big man on his sleigh,
of eating a candy cane and telling me that she asked Santa for more Disney princesses. 
I believe in the joy and wonder that many have lost as they grow old:
of giving to others as it's far better than to receive:

It's okay Santa, we still believe:
and we'd like to think that Jesus is okay with that, too!

Friday, December 10, 2010

'tis the season


Friday, December 3, 2010

oh, rapunzel! let down your hair!

Last weekend, we took Anna to see Tangled, her very first movie. "Firsts" are something that are so spectacular, and when they happen, I never want to let them go. I store them away in my mind, in my heart, and in my writing. Yes, firsts are so awe inspiring. The wonder in a child's thought, the way that she sees things for the very first time. She will become excited at other times as well, but none like the first time. The first time is well, magical.
She gladly sits in the booster seat next to her big brother (who is only seeing his second feature film on the big screen). Popcorn in between the two, they are thrilled even at the previews. It's the opening scene and she claps voraciously. She turns to me and unknowing of movie theatre etiquette, yells at the top of her lungs, "Mommy, Rapunzel!" She is over the moon for what is before her eyes, and even more so, because of her love of all things Disney princesses. She sits quietly and when her popcorn is low, she sits in my lap and kindly asks for a sip of my soda (something she rarely gets, but this is a special occasion). Now seated with two children in my lap, the baby finds a snuggly spot in my mother's arms. All of us are enjoying the beautiful music and animation in this film.
When the movie is over, Anna claps again and tells me how much fun she had and how she loved the movie. She is thrilled that she has gone to the theatre, and even more so, that it was a movie about a princess.

A momentous occasion, for sure. Her nonna holds her hand as she begins to cross the street. I attempt to hold Kieran's hand and he proceeds to tell me that he would like to hold his sister's hand. They cross the street in unison and I can't help but attempt to capture this moment, camera in one hand, baby in carseat in the other.
Another stamp in the passport of my memory, one that I will never forget.

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