Christmas Traditions

I didn't take this photo, it's a steal off of Flickr, but this is pretty accurate to Roland's hand size and some of the residents of McKendree

A friend asked me the other day how big a deal we made Santa and if we had any routines or traditions connected to Santa, or Christmas. When it comes to Santa, we keep it simple. Roland is extremely literal, and if you tell him magic reindeer are flying a sleigh and Santa is coming down the chimney, he won't be mystified and sappy, he'll be inquisitive and analytical...which translates to about a billion or so questions related to the logistics of said fairytale. So we just allow him to form whatever opinions he would like to have about Santa, and respect them. (Working out fine so far)

At first scan through my holiday-mush brain I couldn't think of one thing we did every year that is a tradition...except visit McKendree Village. McKendree is a local assisted living facility just down the road and every year at this time since Roland was born we make a couple dozen or so ornaments and go door to door, chair to chair, passing out smiles, hugs and conversation. Tonight was our night.

Roland, Brian, Aria and I made snowflake ornaments this year. We always do something that hangs easily on a wheelchair or doorknob. This gives him something to anchor to, an action he can repeat with confidence to break the ice while we're visiting with someone. After a couple times of me leading the exchange he's more comfortable and starts offering information, "I made this for you, it is a snowflake ornament." "Merry Christmas!" "I'm 3. That's Aria, she's a baby." and answering their direction questions. This was Aria's first time so I kept her in the stroller and then on my hip. She was a bit shell shocked at first, but then warmed up watching Roland.

Roland was amazing. After about the third person he found his groove and was confidently passing out ornaments and picking out who to visit next. Sure, there are times where a voice or touch makes him uneasy, (or missing appendages, there were a great deal of those this year) but I'm right there, with a hand to steady him, a leg to curl around. He was kind and gracious, and most importantly, gentle and sincere. By the time we started to run out of ornaments (kicking myself for not making more) Aria was off my hip and going table to table passing out random parts of ornaments that had fallen off. When she started laughing like crazy running away from me down an empty hallway, you'd thought it was like someone had pumped extra pure oxygen into the air - everyone got light headed.

Now, you might be feeling something warm and fuzzy stirring, mixed with a little "Aw...good for you." Don't. That's not why we go. I take Roland every year for basically two reasons: 1). being aware of the frailty of life, 2). knowing the power of giving.

Each, from Mrs. Wilson, to "Aunt Ruby", were all at one point and Aria and a Roland. Bodies strong, minds ever expanding, days navigated by love and adventure. And then they were just like Brian and I. They've made it - to a point we all want to reach - or so we say.

The giving is really starting to take hold in Roland. Aria is a natural giver. (Although she was regifting at one point, taking someones ornament and giving it to someone else, but no one seemed to mind the attention she was lavishing on them.) But tonight, Roland didn't want to leave, he wanted to give out more gifts, and asked if we could come back.

Personally, I'm always nervous, every year. There's risk, for both the kids and the residents. But each year we make it. And then afterwards, my throat closes so tight breathing is hard. The names are on the rooms are different. The eyes are hard to stare into, the hands so delicate to the touch, and worse, the minds seem trapped by bodies that won't let them reach out and tousle a child's hair, smile or exchange in a simple conversation. And then the shame sets in, because it's just an hour. One hour out of so many that I let slip by in the year.

So yes, we'll be back, hopefully much sooner than another blisteringly-fast 12 months.

When I got home I held Brian. Not hugged, but held. And took even more time tonight holding the kids. My mind locked in on how easy it is for me to raise my arms and hold those I love. So simple, and so powerful.

In the mean time, we'll transfer this appreciation into supreme loving on friends and family over the next couple days and into the new year, mopping up with mental sponges (and every peice of technology I own) the laughter, new memories and special moments that make up Christmas traditions. Tomorrow night we're off to Michelle and Steve's with Kristi, to love on friends, celebrate life and introduce final pecies of our families to make one big, crazy family: Ed and Kay, Connor, Jack, Roland and Aria, Victoria, Amy and hubby (doh!), Bob and Cindy, Evan and Kris, Darcy, Darren and Philip, Brian and I.

I hope wherever you are, you're mopping up the love, laughter and memories, too.