It’s the last week before Christmas. Our first term of lessons is done. I spent time over the weekend cleaning the house and prepping food so that the kids and I can spend the next few days having fun together. There are cookies to bake, gingerbread houses to decorate, carols to sing, lights to see. My plans aren’t complicated; home-based, low-key, and simple. I laid out all our activities in my planner and woke up Monday morning with merry spirits to begin our week of festive fun.
Here’s the thing, though; real life rarely follows my planner. And while, sometimes, the two match up almost perfectly, other times, the reality of our day falls so short of my expectations that it’s almost laughable. Monday was one of those days.
I don’t know why, exactly, it seems to happen this way, but I feel like the more excited I am for something, the more hope I have in certain results, or the more I am anticipating a particular experience, the more my kids act like wackadoos. Is it because my expectations are high, and therefore easier to disappoint? Is it because I am subconsciously communicating an added pressure to be pleasant and cooperative, one that sends their wee child minds into a tailspin? Is it that they have a hard time managing their own excitement when we do fun and different things? I’d wager it’s a healthy dose of all the above. But even during those times when my expectations are realistic and I have been intentional about creating a laid-back and stress-free atmosphere, things seem to fall apart the most on days I want to participate in meaningful, special activities with my kids.
Like Monday.
Our morning began with decorating gingerbread houses, which was mostly pleasant. There was some complaining even then, but they really seemed to enjoy themselves and I had fun assisting and watching them make an absolute mess of the dining room table. The houses reminded me of Hansel and Grettel, so I picked up The Blue Fairy Book and found the story, which I read to them while they decorated. We laughed about it, talked about what we would do if we found a house of bread and cakes in the woods, and discussed how we can learn lessons even from fantastical stories like fairy tales.
So far, so good.
But then, once the houses were done, no one wanted to pitch in with a couple of jobs before lunch. There was bickering and me having to remind children of instructions over and over, as they got distracted. Only one person was happy with lunch. All of them forgot how to behave at a table. No one was listening to what I was saying.
Now, there was certainly disciplining going on. There were many “sit here until you calm down”s and apologies and “let’s remember what the Bible says about this”. And, as parents, we know that this is a long game; it’s the constant and unrelenting reminders, training, and lovingly maintained boundaries that help form our children’s moral character. But some days, it feels like a much longer game than others, and this was one of those days.
So I decided a walk was in order. Some fresh air would do us good. We even stopped by the park at the end of our street to swing and go down some slides. Lo and behold…this, too, was met with friction. They didn’t want to be over here, they wanted to be over there. They didn’t want to play that way, they wanted to play this way. They weren’t having any fun…but then, they didn’t want to leave!
Rest time at home was followed by tea time, which, today, was mostly unsatisfactory to them. We made cookies through bickering and arguing, and a constant stream of reminders not to touch and to wait your turn.
I felt myself beginning to become desperate. I had planned on finishing the cookie dough, getting dinner in the Instant Pot, and turning on a Christmas movie. We could cuddle up and watch together, eat a yummy meal, and hang a few more ornaments on our Jesse Tree. But the afternoon was tumbling by and the house just kept getting messier and messier and the kids grumpier and grumpier and myself… more and more frustrated.
"Better is a dry morsel with quiet than a house full of feasting with strife."
The movie didn’t happen. Instead, I found myself half-an-hour past when I wanted dinner ready, still cooking. The kitchen counters were littered in dishes from our baking that I didn’t have a chance to wash. The dining room table needed to be cleared from tea time, and wiped. At one point, two of the four children were wailing.
I wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep. At the very least, I wanted to send everyone to their rooms and finish dinner…I had to cook naan to go with our curry…in silence. But I knew, deep down, that part of the reason I was miffed and upset was because my expectations for the day weren’t met. I had created an idea of how this day would go, and the reality seemed to fall woefully short. I wanted to do special things with my kids to make memories around the holidays and they had ruined it.
Or had they?
Because, here’s the thing; beautiful memories don’t have to happen around perfectly curated activities and cheerfully participated-in fun. Beautiful memories can also follow hard days, when moments of grace and love redeem the mess and chaos. We can still create them when we choose, not to give our kids what we want, but give them what they need, and do it with gentleness, even when it’s hard.
So one by one, I called them into the kitchen to help me. It started with the one sent into their room until they could calm down, one who had struggled with words and respect. I brought them in and asked them to flatten the naan dough, gently forming little rounds we could cook on the griddle. I knew that being asked to help, being given a meaningful task, and knowing they were wanted, beside me, despite their unpleasantness, would matter a great deal. And it did. This child’s countenance completely changed. We worked together and I let them chatter away, just nodding and listening.
A few minutes later, another child came stumbling into the room, sobbing. They were upset over some thing that is very trivial to adults but a very big deal to a young mind. The first child, pressing naan at the table, said, “do you want to come help?” A moment of kindness!
So another task was given, spreading a pat of butter on each finished naan.
Eventually, the last child capable of helping (the baby is still too little) wandered in. This one was also crying, upset at something they had messed up after working hard on it. Once again, the two already in the kitchen invited this one to join. So a new job was given, flipping the naan on the griddle.
It wasn’t a relaxing time, but it was peaceful. I rotated between them, helping and instructing, allowing the conversation to focus on the things they wanted to talk about. We worked together until dinner was finished, then set out dishes, then ate. It was delicious and filling, nourishing our bodies and our souls as we found stability in the common, everyday rhythms of our home.
I think, as parents, we can sometimes lose track of what would be best for our kids in the interest of what we want to do. It’s really easy, as a grown, (mostly) regulated, ration adult to over-book, over-plan, and over-extend what their little minds and bodies and souls are capable of. They are whole people, too, with their own ideas and expectations, but without the years of wisdom and experience that lend control and perspective. And it’s hard, because so much of what we want to do, especially around the holidays, is motivated by a desire to make them happy and give them good things. But sometimes, the best thing we can give them is just….steadiness. Routine. Time.
I’m not saying that all the wonderful and seasonal things we do around Christmas aren’t worth planning or doing. I still have a whole list of activities to do with my kids in the next few days. What I am saying is that all of the lovely things we want to offer them…beauty, the anticipation of Jesus’ birth, warmth, and peace…aren’t only conveyed through specific Advent activities or festive events. A simple dinner lit by candlelit, a book read by the glow of the Christmas tree, or even just inviting them to come alongside you in a task are all ways that we can communicate the same message. Communicate better, dare I say. Because it isn’t the rarity of a circumstance, usually, that affects great change. It’s the slow and steady meeting them where they are. Treating them well when they are being unpleasant. Offering…again…the same verses and admonishments and counseling that direct them on the right path. Telling them stories of our own struggles, owning up to being imperfect, apologizing for our own missteps. It’s modeling Christ and bringing Him into our conversations all throughout the year, not just during Christmastime.
Proverbs 17:1 came to mind, “Better is a dry morsel with quiet than a house full of feasting with strife.” Grand, special times are wonderful if they can be while maintaining peace and joy. If they can’t, forcing them to happen ends up working against us. Better to stick with the normal, regular things with love.
We didn’t watch a movie on Monday. We missed another day of our Jesse tree. Dinner was late, so bedtime was late. I placed all four of them on my bed, with brushed teeth and in jammies, and I prayed and thanked God for grace. I thanked Him for Jesus, I thanked Him for the chance to come before Him and speak with Him whenever we wanted, and I thanked Him that there are new mercies every morning, even after hard days. I had to stop a few times to remind kids to sit quietly. Then they each picked a carol, which we sang as they also buried themselves in blankets and tumbled around the pillows.
It was far from a perfect day, but it was a good one. And I tucked each child in bed with the comfort that the anticipation of Christmas and celebration of Advent wasn’t skipped over or ruined. It just looked a little different than I had planned.