It's a Wonderful Life

Christmas makes me all manner of sentimental. At some point each year before December 25, it all "clicks," and the snow or the carol or the tradition I'm experiencing brings such joy and gratitude that I get all giddy. Or reflective. I'm the latter at the moment.

There are moments from 2008 that I don't want to forget, moments with each child that have made all the wild busyness of being a mom worthwhile.

Genevieve: Watching my beautiful baby girl fall asleep, eyes flying open at intervals to see if I'm still looking down at her . . . then smiling slightly and letting her eyes close again. My husband (the softy!) welcoming her to join us when she's awake at odd hours: "Let's just enjoy her!" he urges. Seeing her joy and interest in watching everything and everyone around her.

James: My little boy backing up to a lap (love that toddler move!!) with a book in his hands: "Bookie!" Or pointing out our pictures in the homemade flap-book my daughter made for him: "Me-mom. Papa. Ta-tee [Thomas]. La [Priscilla]. Bum-ma [Grandma]." His bright smile when he sees me in the morning . . . or right before he charges off from one activity to pursue the next one that occurs to him. His attempts to comfort his sisters when they are upset by touching a hand, kissing them, or bringing them an object he himself enjoys.

Priscilla: Seeing my daughter's joy at a perfect day with her best friend, brimming with news of all that happened, bearing a blanket she made there for her baby sister. Reading a going-beyond essay she's written. Hearing her volunteer as soon as the first leaves start falling so she can find her (to me) unthinkable satisfaction in clearing every last leaf from the grass. Being surprised at bits of knowledge or vocabulary she displays that show she has so much more depth and maturity in some area than I'd realized.

Thomas: Watching my husband truly enjoy his time with our son, whether it's cleaning out gutters together on ladders (with me inside trying not to get freaked out as a mom over the height), crafting the ultimate anime costume together, or viewing shows Glenn's waited years to show him. Seeing Thomas's maturity deepen, his vocabulary all his own but with flecks of influence from his friends, his reading, his lines of opinion on various topics.

And those are just a few. It's these quiet things that get lost in the craziness.

Sure, there are the obvious blogging moments to which I've tended to succumb. My children now clamor "you have to blog this!" when such events occur (most recently when James's "help" in setting the table resulted in interesting arrangements of dishes and butter on objects and in his hair).

But failed toddler-chasing moments and desperate parenting prayers aside, I love this stuff. My blog may not get updated when I want it to (like this Christmas post happening weeks later!). Despite my stated intent in my profile at right, I may wonder aloud a million times why I can't possibly find enough down time to do more than the basics, when "everyone else seems to be able to" (my favorite whine). I may feel every day like I've failed miserably in some category (disciple, wife, mom, homeschooler, homemaker, cook, daughter, friend . . . why can't I manage it all?). But I think (and hope!) that I'll be able to look back on this time and gloss it over nicely as OK after all, because of the precious gifts of these moments that have little or nothing to do with my competence or efforts. You might think it's grace or something.