Sunday, December 25, 2011

Comfort and Joy


Top Five Reasons This Christmas is Awesome

5.  As we cuddled up in front of the computer to watch Owen's personalized video message from Santa, he was at first surprised and then a little taken aback by the fact that Santa was calling him by name.  However, as the video progressed, there was a genuine look of wonder on his little face that brought a lump to my throat and a tear to his dad's eye.  This year, Santa is perhaps as real as he'll ever be for Owen, and it's so much fun. 

4.  It's been a few years since I felt the need to wield a cookie cutter, but after re-instituting the Fife holiday cookie baking tradition at Grandma's house, there's been no lack of treats this season.  We may have sprinkled and frosted ourselves into a larger pants size, but that's just another reason to buy a new pair of stretchy pants.  And, really, life IS better when your pants are stretchy. 


 
There are at least 6 ornaments on this
especially "boo-tiful" branch.

3.  Even though I was nervous about allowing Owen to hang my highly prized, antique glass ornaments on the tree all by himself, I managed to suppress my Type A tendencies enough to make the tree decorating a family affair.  Sure, there were a few ornament casualties, and the bottom third of the tree is a little more heavily decorated than the top, but my spacial issues are put to rest each evening when I turn on the Christmas tree lights and Owen reminds me that, "Oh!  It's Boo-tiful!"


2.  Trying to navigate the grocery store with my child in tow is an especially harrowing experience during the holiday season.  Having a well thought-out list and a secret lollipop stashed away for use as anti-meltdown collateral gives me the confidence I need to get in the door.  Inevitably, though, around aisle five, the lollipop begins to lose its luster and the cart becomes a little too confining for Owen.  It's usually at that point that I also realize that I forgot to get an apple from aisle one and missed the black olives in aisle two.  At that point, I start to sweat.  The rest of the trip becomes a blurry dash to the checkout line.  By the time I unload the cart at the register (and take stock of all the items I missed on my list), my annoyance level is a code red, and that's when I notice Owen's tiny voice behind me.  He's quietly checking out the impulse buys that are stacked neatly beside the counter and entertaining himself by singing the world's cutest rendition of "Have A Holly Jolly Christmas," and suddenly I can't help but feel merry and bright.  

1.  And this is all I need to keep me warm for the rest of the winter.   

 

Merry Christmas!!!!

Friday, December 16, 2011

Noise Solution


Sometimes I get overwhelmed by noise.  When I'm confronted with too much of it, I can feel my body and brain physically react.  Too many different noises at once will literally set my teeth on edge and cause my jaw and neck muscles to tighten as I work harder to concentrate.  My intolerance for background noise is weird because I consider myself fairly proficient when it comes to multi-tasking.  I can cook a grilled cheese sandwich, sweep the kitchen floor, and update my Facebook status all at the same time; I can grade an essay, shoot off an email to a co-worker, and make a mental lesson plan in the five minutes before school starts.  I can do lots of things all at once, except when it comes to listening. 

When a grown-up conversation is interrupted with incessant pleas from my three-year-old for "more juice," my ability to communicate shuts down until I can appease the child and restart the conversation.  In a classroom full of high school students, many of whom are somehow still unfamiliar with the concept of raising one's hand, I've been known to loudly and forcefully call for a moratorium on talking when my attention is being pulled in too many different directions.  My hatred for shopping is probably linked to my noise aversion; loud music piped through speakers and other shoppers attempting to talk over top of it sends me from zero to annoyed in a matter of seconds.  In the event that I have to grocery shop with my child in tow, my ability to concentrate is so compromised that I'm lucky to make it out of the store with ingredients for one complete meal, and I'm sure my hatred for my cell phone also has something to do with this pesky noise issue of mine. 

I feed my need for quiet whenever and wherever I can.  My drive home from work is usually radio-free, allowing for fifteen minutes of noise detox that I so desperately crave after a typical day of work; I shudder at the thought of how many more detox miles I'd have to accrue if I taught elementary instead of high school students.  Sometimes during lazy winter evenings, Neil will watch the news while Owen watches a movie on the portable DVD player, and I am compelled to retreat to the kitchen to tackle a sink full of dishes.  While I do like to clean (I know, I know.  I have issues), it's not the act of washing dishes that makes me feel better; it's the sound of the water coming out of the faucet, drowning out the din of the dueling televisions with a white noise that soothes me and allows my brain to begin functioning normally again.  Two of the most relaxing hours I spent last summer were on a lawn mower, mowing the grass at my grandma's farm.  Yes, the noise of the mower overshadowed the quiet sounds of nature, but there was something beautiful about the consistent hum of the machine as its static growl allowed me two hours of uninterrupted time with my own thoughts.  

I cannot understand people who are uncomfortable with silence.  Perhaps they are better equipped to deal with the life's noise, but, for me, quiet time is essential to my well-being.  When I teach my students about Henry David Thoreau and his experiment with simplifying his life by retreating from society to live at Walden Pond, I feel a secret sort of kinship with him.  Henry went out alone so he could "reduce life to its lowest terms" and "live deliberately."  While I don't identify with Thoreau's need to abandon modern luxuries and commune with nature (ewwwww...nature), I do understand why he needed to simply retreat for a while in order to figure life out. 

Thoreau's two-year excursion to Walden Pond was pretty hardcore;  as a person whose wellspring of happiness is filled almost exclusively by home and family, I can't identify with a need for complete isolation.  I'd happily settle for a monthly excursion to Walden Pond for two hours of uninterrupted porch time, though.  That would be enough.  I'm sure there will come a time when I will miss the clamor that's created by working and family and the routine of everyday, but for now I'll steal and savor my moments of silence whenever I can because it is during those moments, when my thoughts slow down and my brain catches up, that I remember the importance of appreciating the noise.