Chaotic Christmas

We're down south at my sister-in-law's for Christmas. She has two babies, an almost-2-year old aptly nicknamed "The Hurricane" and a 1-year old who lets out an ear-splitting shriek whenever she is happy, sad, excited, angry, wants attention, or feels like shrieking. Neither sleeps through the night. The TV is constantly blaring (or at night, lullabies are blaring from the babies' room on infinite repeat). The kids have all taken turns being sick. X developed a hacking cough, K threw up last night before passing out. So, while it's been nice spending time with the family, it hasn't been a relaxing vacation.

Yesterday K and I were out for a walk, looking at the Christmas decorations in the neighborhood. I pointed out a Nativity scene. He asked what it was, and I explained that it showed baby Jesus being born. "Who's Jesus?" he asked. (This time I had an answer prepared, unlike the last time he asked me this and I passed the buck to Grandma.) "Jesus lived a long time ago," I said. "He taught everyone to love each other and to treat other people the way you would want them to treat you. People thought what he said was so important that they wrote it down and still remember it and talk about it. Christmas is Jesus's birthday, so people put up pictures of baby Jesus at Christmastime." "If baby Jesus comes," declared K, "I'm running away." "What?? What are you talking about?" "If baby Jesus comes I'm RUNNING AWAY," insisted K. "Why?" "Because then we'll have FOUR BABIES." I explained that baby Jesus wasn't going to come live with us and  be his new little brother, he was born a long time ago and this was just his birthday. But K was still suspicious.

We had K christened in the Catholic church, in accordance with our pre-marriage agreement that we'd raise the kids Catholic. I told JW I'd cooperate, but he was in charge of the kids' religious upbringing. My only stipulation was that they be taught to respect other people's beliefs, and my un-Catholic hope was that they would also question the idea that what they heard in church was the capital-T Truth. (Partly because I think it's dangerous to blindly believe what you're told, and partly because I don't think you can honestly respect other people's beliefs if you're not willing to allow that they might be true.) But with one lapsed Catholic parent and one atheist parent, K has so far grown up in a religious vacuum. I tried dragging him to the local UU church a few times, but gave up because he was so resistant (and JW wouldn't come, so I spent the whole time running after K trying to coax him to cooperate), and I can count on one hand the number of times he's attended church (all holidays, plus his own christening). When he comes across a reference to prayer in a book, or God, he has no idea what it means. He asked me what "pray" means once and I told him it meant being grateful for what you have and wishing for good things to happen, especially for other people. But we haven't had a real conversation about God yet. I feel like telling him "some people believe this, other people don't" diminishes genuine faith, and I don't want to sow the seeds of disbelief so early. At the same time, I don't want to be a hypocrite. I don't believe in God and dislike many things about established religions. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and hopefully he won't be proselytized as much as I was as a kid. There are a lot more dark-skinned people around where we live than where I grew up.

So. Back to Christmas. We woke up and snuggled in bed together. K kept mentioning that as one of his favorite parts of the day, and JW and I were happy that he would rather snuggle with us than run downstairs and tear open his presents. K got a remote-controlled car, a remote-controlled helicopter, and ten little Matchbox cars. I gave him a bunch of new books, which he has declined to read. Santa gave him a toy Mater (from the Cars movie, which he refuses to watch because it's too scary, and yet asks for the toys by name) and a Batman book. Santa also left him a little scavenger hunt around the living room and kitchen. After initially being annoyed that he had to read on Christmas, he loved it and said he hoped Santa would do that every year. (The scavenger hunt literally took me five minutes to put together. For that effort-to-delight ratio, I'll definitely do it again next year.) X got a new toy to chew on and a gift card to Carter's for some non-hand-me-down clothes. I made sweet potato cinnamon rolls, but as usual I didn't put enough goo in them or enough glaze on top. Next year I swear I will follow the recipe. K and I played outside by the creek.

JW repeatedly tried and failed to get K to watch "Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas," to the point where it moved beyond just K annoying Daddy and became a running joke. Earlier today K turned to me and said, "You know what I like?" "What?" "You," he replied, giving me a kiss. "You know what I don't like?" he continued. I grinned and we both said at once, "Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" "Seriously, though," I told him, "how do you know you don't like it if you won't even try watching it? Why won't you watch it? It would make Daddy so happy." "If I see Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas," he replied, "I will DELETE IT." Seems to me that the logical next step is to repeatedly tell him that baby Jesus wants him to watch Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas.

The trip down here went amazingly smoothly. So smoothly that we're bracing for disaster on our return home tomorrow. I will be a little surprised if we don't stagger in the door soaked in our children's bodily fluids. Maybe it'll be a Christmas miracle.

Next year I'm pushing for a family holiday cruise. No cleaning, no cooking, we'll hand the kids off and drink margaritas by the pool. Now that sounds like a vacation.