Christmas Debrief

I'm still figuring out the whole traveling-Christmas thing.

Mainly trying to figure out how to have enough energy to throw a Christmas for our nuclear family once we arrive back in town from celebrating with all the extended family.

And the best solution I've come up with so far is serious caffeine abuse.

It'll have to do for now.

We scooted home just ahead of a major blizzard that hit the Midwest on Christmas Eve, arriving back to temperatures in the 70's...which were replaced the next day by a cold front.

Serious cold.

But no snow here.

In contrast to the 10 inches my extended family experienced.

After a flurry of wrapping and digging out hidden 'assets' and frantic runs to packed stores for reams of batteries, Christmas morning dawned bright and clear...and early.

5 of 8 is a great sleeper...except on Christmas Eve. He crept into our bedroom around 3 am, ready to check out whatever might be under the tree.

We made him wait a bit.

As in, 5 more hours.

We tried to slow down the gift-unwrapping carnage by playing 'Santa Bingo'. It still managed to be a ticker-tape parade of ribbon and paper, packages and bit and pieces.

And fun.

I guess Santa didn't get the memo. We ended up with yet more stuffed animals. I'm not sure how this happens every year.

8 of 8 has developed a serious candy cane dependency.

Serious.

All in all, Santa was able to pull it out of the bag, so to speak. Although I think he drank a whole pot of coffee to do so. And he may have needed a serious nap. But still.

And 5 of 8? Well, he was rewarded for his Christmas Eve watch duty.

Merry Christmas to all.

Sunday Selah

And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.

Luke 2:52

The angels ascended.
The shepherds made their goodbyes.

The sun came up the next day.

And the next.

And now, Jesus went about the business of being...a baby.

There would be glimmers in his childhood, prophecies from Simeon and Anna, visits from Magi, a relocation to Egypt.

But for the most part, after the glory of His birth, Jesus began living life.

Diapers, feedings, sleeping, waking, crying.

And while His conception and birth are rightfully celebrated as a miracle, so do those quiet years seem miraculous to me. The miracle that He was willing to come quietly walk out a suburban Galilean lifestyle. That He was willing to learn to roll over, to crawl, to creep, to walk. That He learned to sleep, this God who stands outside of time, submitting to naps and drowsiness. That He grew. And experienced. And observed.

Quietly.

In accordance with the laws of human development He had programmed into our DNA.

And He did such a stellar job of being seemingly 'normal' that His own hometown folks would later question how someone as 'average' as Jesus could be the miracle worker and fiery rabbi roaming Israel.

And it all started on day two of His earthly life.

After the angels ascended.

After the shepherds went home.

And Jesus got down to the business of being a baby.

For us.

So He could understand us in every way.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Last Dandelion Standing~

~image by 1 of 8~

~but by last update, that lone dandelion is now under a foot of snow~

~Oklahoma Blizzards~

~gotta love 'em~

Merry Christmas To All...

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: "The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel"—which means, "God with us."

Matthew 1:22&23

It's this prophetic name of that Nazarene carpenter that demands we leave the safety of neutrality and step into a field of faith. Or step into disbelief.

But His very name will not allow us to fence-sit, much as we would like.

God with us.

More than a prophet, more than a sage, more than a martyr. Something more. Much more.

God with us.

Immanuel.

History has had its share of holy men, shamans and such. They have risen in popularity, fallen in disgrace, enjoyed an enduring fame, faded into forgetfulness. Some claimed to be gods, some claimed to have special divine qualities. Some dazzled, some revolted, some ruled, some attained a moniker of legend.

But this Immanuel, this Jesus, what do we do with Him?

Those Greco-Roman gods and Hindu deities are a little simpler to deal with. Those immortal frat boys, tricking cute human girls and conducted their intrigues in classical soap opera. They are capricious, silly, egotistical. They are familiar. We can recognize them wallowing in our foible styes, right in the mud with us.

But their stories bring us no hope, no revelation about who we are and why we are here.

Enter the mystics, the ones whose cabalistic clues seem deeper and higher and loftier and enigmatic. It sounds good, it looks cool, it feels enlightened. But a soft swirl of names and ghostly personalities and practices leave us no one heart to cling to, no one Name to call upon.

Philosophers, poets, scientists, composers. Religion as art, thought, verse.

But we were wrought in flesh.

It's a pretty big claim, this Immanuel, this God with us. And yet, it resonates.

The Father, willing to come to us, willing to wrap Himself in flesh, feel our hurts, operate within the confines of gravity and time, weather and woes. He comes to us. He comes not as a ruler but a servant. Not as an officius expert, but as a rabbi, a teacher. Not as an immortal from Olympus, but as a baby, born on a dirt floor, amidst blood and water and pain and joy.

God with us.

The most outrageous claim amongst the mystics, the poets, the myths, the legends.

Immanuel.

The very Son of God. Or an extravagant, heavily marketed, strongly branded fraud.

But one or the other.

God with us.

What do we do with this Jesus?

Selah.

O Holy Night

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ[a] the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

Luke 2:8-20

You Sure?

Eight kids.

Two dogs.

Laundry from five days.

600 miles.

Popcorn.

Snow boots.

Eight hours.

Eight.

You sure you don't want to come along?

You sure?

It's gonna be a party...

6 of 8 Definitions...

Eggs.

Pancakes.

Bacon.

Orange juice.

6 of 8 stuffed herself at breakfast. Stuffed.

"Whew," she declared. "I am so full. I'm not eating for the rest of the day...except for lunch.

"...and dinner."

She's a paragon of self-discipline, that one.

There Will Be Cookies...

You gotta make cookies.

Even if you haven't slept in several nights and you have proclaimed that you're going to make Christmas more simple and that the world has become too materialistic in its expectation and we're going to slow down and enjoy the season.

But you still gotta make cookies.

Because if you don't trash your kitchen at least once during the holidays, then how are you going to be grateful when your feet don't stick to the kitchen floor once you have to hose the whole thing down in January?

So I let 6 of 8 and her cutie buddy LP make some sugary concoctions.

Whereupon they used a great deal of the sugar cookie dough as modeling clay.

Super hygienic.

But still.

Can you say 'Sugar Rush'?

It pretty much became a Glucose Throw-Down.

Hunter. Gatherer.

Good friends and gallons of sugar.

Picture. Perfect.

Sunday Selah

The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again.

John 10:17

It's not that I want to burst somebody's bubble.

Because I really don't.

But that whole "Jesus is the reason for the season"?

It's a little more complicated than that.

A little more multi-faceted, if you will.

Man has long struggled with fear at the time of the winter solstice. Days grow shorter and shorter, the sun seeming to recede from the earth. In ancient times, people often had entire rituals and sacrifices made at this time, all in an effort to appease whatever powers, trying to convince those powers to allow the sun to return.

Impending darkness does have tendency to bring out the superstitious in us.

It was the Norse people who strove to stave of the darkness of the solstice with a log. They would light the Yule log, as reminder of the sun's light, as a talisman against the dark.

The Romans celebrated Saturnalia, a time of feasting and ruckus-making. It originally started as a way of boosting citizen morale after a crushing military defeat. Slaves would be allowed to become 'masters' for a bit and state-sponsored mayhem and merriment were the theme.

And during this period of solstice partying, the upper class and the officer ranks of the military would celebrate the birth of the sun god, Mithras, on December 25th. Born from a rock, Mithras was credited with being responsible for the return of the sun. His cult involved extensive rituals and initiations, including a literal baptism in blood for those who would be followers. This practice enjoyed the height of its popularity from the first century AD until the fourth century. While scholars quibble over some of the ebb and flow of the Mithras cult practices, its mysteries and popularities made it quite the exclusive club in its day.

Records from other cultures also record the importance to ancient peoples the ceremonies surrounding the winter solstice, the desire to satisfy the mercurial and capricious deities those cultures had designed for themselves.

And when the early Christian church was faced with the tide of tradition surrounding this time of year, when Constantine pragmatically thought through how to best bring his fellow Romans to a Christian paradigm, Saturnalia and covert celebrations of Mithras were morphed and modified to become a time to celebrate the birth of Christ.

I really don't intend to burst the bubble.

But integrity demands that we acknowledge Christ was not the reason for the season for many a moon.

Or sun, as the case may be.

But here is the beauty.

Jesus is the answer.

Jesus is the answer to this season.

When darkness swirls, when we wonder about how we will make it through the day, Jesus is the answer. When our culture elevates fame and fortune, idolatry and idiocy, Jesus is the answer.

When we create a merry mix of snowmen and reindeer, candy canes and cocoa, Saint Nick and Rudolph and a baby in a manger with a little drummer boy percussively standing by, Jesus is the answer.

Because, really, whether the sun comes up tomorrow or not, He is the Light. Whether the spring planting will bring a full harvest or not, He is the Bread of Life. Whether the days seem short and dark or long and glaring, He is the Hope.

He is the answer.

He is the answer for every season.

And that is reason to truly celebrate.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Wonder~

~Christmas Wonder~

More Wisdom From the Laundry Queen

I call it Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

Not to be confused with Pre-Packing Laundry.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry, or PPPL as I like to call it, is a phenomenon that I experience every time I try to begin preparing this crew of 10 to travel.

PPPL should not be confused with PPL. Please notice the difference in the number of 'P's in the acronym.

PPPL is the laundry that you have to do to figure out the next phase of laundry you should do in preparation to travel.

As in, PPPL is the compilation of the entire wardrobes of your family that you have been ignoring stacking up in the corner of the laundry room.

It is also comprised of a desperate search for Christmas colored turtlenecks that you really wanted to take with you so the kids would look festive for the holidays.

But now you've decided they can look just as festive wearing faded Disney print t-shirts.

Because you know where those t-shirts are.

And those t-shirts at least are clean.

Because you performed PPPL.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

I do think that one of these years I will experience PPL, the singular experience of Laundry By Choice. You know, where I could stroll into a kid's room, view the organized and neatly hung wardrobe, make my selections to place in the suitcase and then choose to wash a darling little blouse, just to take on a trip, just in case.

But PPL, that simple Pre-Packing Laundry, may be a phenomenon deep in my future.

Because right now, I'm all about the PPPL.

Knee-deep into PPPL.

Pre-Packing Pre-Laundry.

It's the next big thing.

You heard it here first.

Superstar Medley, Judges' Challenge & Songs Of Hope: Part 1

Video Recaps | Full Episodes | Webisodes

Do Me A Solid, Wouldya?

See this darling girl?

She's the daughter of our amazing pastor and she's getting to do an amazing thing.

Her vocal group is being featured on NBC'S newest reality show, The Sing Off.

She performs with the vocal band Voices of Lee and they have made it to the top three in the competition.

Now here's the part where I ask a favor of my Octamom readers.

Up to this point, it was a panel of judges who were choosing which groups would go and which would stay.

And now it's up to the viewers.

Garland's group, Voices of Lee, is a phenomenal group of young people who have mainly performed for churches and patriotic events, bringing a full sound and a clean cut image to vocal performance. They are passionate about their faith. They're a bunch of good kids.

And they're just so stinkin' good!

So take a little time today to go vote for this group. You can go here to vote online or you can text 33088 and then enter the number 3 into your message to vote as well. You can vote up to ten times.

It's your patriotic duty.

So Here's The Thing...

I am, apparently, in charge of Christmas next week.
For my clan, let me clarify.

Not for the whole world.

You understand.

And I'm now at the full-sprint-panic status of trying to find where I've hidden everything and figure out exactly who was meant to have what and why I only seem to have candy canes for one kid.

It's a beautiful, well-organized Martha Stewart kind of Christmas.

Not.

I did complete my final teaching/speaking engagement for the year yesterday.

I think.

So I should be focusing on holiday prep.

But that means I don't have a real picture post for Wordful Wednesday today.

So I checked to see what 1 of 8 might have captured with her camera while The Boy was here.

And I thought this was pretty adorable...

And I thought this was incredible...

So, by my count, over the last few days, there have been several blog posts featuring 1 of 8's and Octadad's photography skills.

Do you think it's a conspiracy, a covert effort to take over my blog?

Nah.

I think I've just been a blogger slacker.....


All in the hopes of being a holiday over achiever...

Of Pukers and Playmakers...

This is how they fake you out...




Looking fairly normally before they barf...

In case you didn't catch the stellar poetic accomplishment of yesterday, the Octamom kids participated in a Christmas play this past weekend.

It wasn't without its, ah, hiccups.

And chunk-blowing.

But I thought you might enjoy a few non-puking pics...



This would be 5 of 8, costumed as a wise man. He claims that wearing the costume did not, in fact, make him feel any wiser.

The clothes apparently do not make the man.

Here's 4 of 8 dressed as Mary...



There was a bit of drama as Baby Jesus was momentarily misplaced.

That would preach during this season, wouldn't it?

The Octa-Dad was taking pictures for me and he likewise found it very difficult to take pictures of 8 of 8 in focus, due to 8 of 8's constant movement...



But we have found an amazing recipe for keeping 8 of 8 focused and in one place for a stretch of time...

Put him on the middle of a huge stage in front of lots and lots and lots of people.

Hand him some jingle bells.

Watch him jingle those jingle bells like nobody's business and stay planted to his personal square footage on the stage.

It was awesome.

And then there's 7 of 8.



See those huge green eyes? They were about twice that size when she was brought on stage. Total deer-in-the-headlights kind of a thing. She did not participate in the jingle bell ringing. She did not look about in wonder at the lights and costumes and audience.

She just stared.

Long and hard.

Which was an improvement over her sister standing in the wings, barfing into an old coffee cup.

Ah, Christmas.

'Twas the Puke Before Christmas...

'Twas the morning of the church Christmas play and all through the house
The children were scurrying, creating ruckus and rouse
The costumes were ready, colorful visage to bear
In hopes that this performance would shine under stage light's glare.

The children were rushing, faces scrubbed, cheeks red
While visions of theatrical victory swirled through their heads
And I in my Sunday best and Mike fastening his shoe strap
Had just called once more it was time to don our coats and wraps

When from upstairs, there arose such a clatter
I sent Mike to the steps to see what was the matter
Up the stairs he flew like a flash
Went to 6 of 8's room and heard a small 'splash'.

He squinted his eyes to find what he should know
And he beheld 6 of 8, her face quite morose
Resting there on the bedspread, what should appear
But the evidence of a pre-play puke, nestled festively there.

And as 6 of 8 showed him, she jumped up right quick
Bolted to the bathroom and was again sick
More rapid than eagles this tummy bug came
All in time for the Children's Christmas Play.


She rallied a bit, my 6 of 8 pixie
Finished getting dressed, determined to mix in
With the other children's play actors, one and all
And we thought she might make it, midst this queasy tummy squall

Upon arrival at the church, the children did fly
Hurrying to don costumes, stage craft to apply
Around the backstage area they giggled and flew
Wiseman, snow men, cowboys and Mary too.

6 of 8 sipped her Sprite, her demeanor quite aloof
Then the time came of give tummy bug proof
She looked a bit stricken, looked desperately around
And then I heard it, that old familiar sound

Of a tummy being emptied, a virus afoot
One that renders the morning's breakfast hard to stay put
We hustled her outside, searching for a sack
Some container of some kind to hold her recycled morning's snack

"I'm all better now," she declared, quite merry.
"I can finish getting ready," she intoned, all airy.
And I wanted to believe, though a mom ought to know
That this was the last of the festive puke, the last chunks to blow.

6 of 8 donned her hula skirt, her grass skirt sheath
We dotted on blush and scrubbed her teeth
She was to be a hula girl, a tree ornament a la Hawaii
We adjusted her lei, her flower, she was darling, really.

All costumed and dolled up, 6 of 8 seemed herself
And she joined the kids, jostling a bit and headed themselves
To the green room backstage, before parting the curtain red
Thinking through their lines and step, all in their heads.

6 of 8 spoke not a word, but went straight to her work
Practicing her hula dance and adjusting her hula skirt
The children were lined up and the red curtain rose
It was time to take the stage, the performance to show.

6 of 8 fidgeted in line, she seemed to bristle
And then right as she was to step out, her breakfast became a missile
She lost lunch once more, out of audience's sight
And we hurried her home, our festive hula girl sprite.

(6 of 8 is all healed up now. No, this was not a case of the nerves, but some kind of 24 hour bug. She was sad to have missed out her performance as a hula girl, but feels confident that she gave it her best shot. What a professional!)

Sunday Selah

Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.

1 Cor. 11:1

Should he be part of our Christmas celebrations?


Should he not?

Is the inclusion of the myth a form of deceit with our kids?

Or is it a harmless bit of fun, some local color on the holiday?

I don't know.

Theologian and standard-setter I am not.

But I do know in the flurry of red velvet coats and toy-laden sleighs, we lose the man to the myth.

His name was Nicholas of Bari and Myra and he was born in 270 A.D., a couple of centuries stone's throw from the time of Christ. His hometown was Patara, a Greek village at the time of his birth which would later become a part of Turkey along the southern coast. Raised in a household of prosperous financial means, at a young age, Nicholas would find himself with money in the bank, burying his devout Christian parents as a result of a devastating epidemic.

It is here that Nicholas's story begins to reveal the character of the man. He was flush with funds and absent in parental accountability, but rather than take his inheritance and pursue this world, he invested in the next. Nicholas chose to use the money to take care of the sick, the poor and the needy, giving himself completely to the ministry of the church.

As the machine of Roman military dominance churned its way through adjacent nations, the emperor Diocletian began a campaign to stamp out this upstart cult of Christianity throughout the regions he was conquering. Nicholas was swept up in a tide of persecution and imprisonment for his faith, beaten and jailed. He was finally released during the reign of Constantine. He attended the Council of Nicea, a seminal event in promoting unity of the church and protecting the divine nature of Christ from the swirling apostasies of the day.

Nicholas's faithful shepherding of the church at Myra as bishop earned him admiration and devotion. He was known for his generosity and care. He is said to have provided dowries for three girls whose father had lost his fortune, protecting them from being sold into prostitution. He was also credited with stepping between soldiers and three young men who were about to be executed, saving their lives by his courage. During his tenure as bishop, the citizens of Myra often experienced anonymous donations being made and children began leaving their shoes out on the stoop, often finding coins placed in their footwear come morning.

Nicholas's legacy of Christian generosity and unyielding faith made him a 'saint favorite' in the years following his death. Sailors and children claimed his as patron and the legends surrounding the miracles of his relics spread throughout Europe.

So how did Saint Nicholas morph into the Santa Claus of today?

We can thank the Dutch.

When the Dutch came to the New World during the 1600's, they settled what was originally called New Netherlands, with its hub being New Amsterdam. We know the region as New York City today. The Dutch had long celebrated the life of Sinterklaas, their variation on the name of Saint Nicholas. After the Revolution, New Yorkers began to once again celebrate the Dutch heritage of their region and Sinterklaas/Saint Nicholas was promoted as patron saint of the city in the early 1800's. The image of the saint from Turkey began to blend with the Dutch aesthetic of colder climes and reindeer. Washington Irving commemorated him in verse, along with Clement Clarke Moore, and by the time of the Civil War in the 1860's, political cartoonist Thomas Nast took the traditional image of the saint and melded it to the flavors of the Dutch influence.

And so was the jolly old elf birthed.

It's a whole franchise now, this Santa Claus/Sinterklaas/Saint Nick thing. It bears its own rituals and requirements, lists of naughty and nice, demands and stockings, candy and coal. There are flashing lights, radar reports on his progress through the night sky, reports of chimney spelunking and a GPS system called Rudolph.

It's a bit noisy, all those additions.

But when we get a little quiet, when we allow the blinking lights to fade back a notch, when we blink back the visage of red suits and black boots, a whisper of the man remains.

An echo of generosity. A beat of a heart that drummed solely for the Savior. Aromas of compassion and mercy, courage and sacrifice, the perfume of the saints.

And that is the legacy of a well-lived life.

May we lay down the trappings of this world's fame and embrace the essence of what is real. May we aspire to the simple path of a simple man known as Nicholas of Myra.

Simply living out the grace we have been extended through Christ.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

~Popsicles~

~it's actually been quite brutally chilly here~

~they don't care~

~suit up and head out~

Linkage Loving....

Why my stress response for doing-too-many-things-at-once-and-feeling-like-I'm-not-completing-anything would be to sit down and blog surf, I don't know.

I hear that procrastination is a sign of perfectionism.

But for me, I think I just get distracted by shiny objects.

Anyhow.

It was during one of these avoidance-of-practical-holiday-preparation sessions that I came across a couple of neat sites and thought I would pass them on to you.

The first is sweet fine day, the husband being a pastry chef, the wife being an artist and the result being a photoblog of their gorgeous daughters and yummy creations that will blow you away. Gorgeous.

The second is a site called blue cricket design. This fancy mama has some wonderful reuse/recycle decor ideas and craft how-to's for the holidays. Be sure and check out her Christmas countdown cards and this fantastic idea for storing kids' school papers as keepsakes...

But wait.

Now I'm doing it to you too, aren't I? I'm going to have you blog surfing when we should all be cleaning and decorating and shopping and organizing and frosting and icing stuff!

Oh well.

We're just pursuing perfection, right?

I'm Dreamin' of a .....Oh, Wait....

I blame Bing Crosby.

I do.

As a kid, for me, part of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year was what was on prime time. My kids have DVD collections of all the old Christmas specials and look at me aghast when I explain that in my younger years, Rudolph only came on television once a year one time. If you saw it, you saw it and if you didn't, too bad for you.

It's my version of walking to school in the snow uphill both ways.

My kids are amazed at how hard we had it back in the day when it came to viewing our favorite Christmas specials.

I tell them it built character.

Truth be told, I was an absolute holiday special junkie. I watched all the claymation and bad animation broadcasts. I watched the Mandrell sisters. I watched the Donnie and Marie extravaganza.

And then there was my favorite (aside from Rudolph, of course).

The Bing Crosby Christmas Special.

Bing hosted a Christmas special each year on ABC for many years. Those specials were a cornerstone of the season for me until his final broadcast in 1977 when I was ten. We had his White Christmas album on LP and his smooth crooning seemed the very sound of Noel to me and to be able to watch the man that matched the voice on the console set in the family room, well, it was the stuff of magic.

Perhaps because he looked like a suburban dad, not some exotic star from distant Hollywood (which, given the fact I spent most of my growing up years living outside of L.A. makes Hollywood not so distant...) but someone you could run into at the grocery store, he seemed the image of reliable Christmas authority. While I don't remember many of the details of his yearly Yuletide show, there is one episode that stands out in memory. It took place in what was supposed to be Bing's home and he and his wife were awaiting the arrival of some of their grown kids, with blizzard-like conditions eminent and Bing being given the perfect opportunity to sing "White Christmas".

Ah.

The very set and scene of Christmas.

And in my young mind, the images of their 'home' and the blanket of 'snowfall' and the anticipation of 'arriving guests' became a standard of what a holiday should look and sound like.

Because there are those Christmases past that you hold dear in your memory.

And then there are those Christmases you hold dear that you actually never had.

But you still think somehow that's how Christmas is supposed to be.

Christmas Past.

Christmas Future.

Christmas Expectation.

If I could just get the house looking a certain way. If I'd just gotten those sugar cookies decorated. If it would just get a little colder than 50 degrees. If the kids were in hand-smocked jumpers. If we could just go ice skating and if there was just some hot cocoa and if carolers showed up at just the right time and if there could be some snowflakes falling on cue and if the Christmas tree were not just a hodgepodge but a true decor designer piece...

Then Bing could be proud.

Bah humbug.

Because truth be told, the Bing Crosby Christmas Special was not shot in a home snuggled in the snowy mountains alongside a lake. It was shot in Burbank. On a set. And the snow that was coming down was plastic. And those grown kids who struggled through the pretend blizzard would go on to write a very unflattering book about their father and his struggles with rage and alcohol.

And that's not a holiday special I would care to replicate.

Christmas Past.

Christmas Future.

Christmas Expectation.

Christmas Present.

Present. A fabulous gift. The ability to enjoy the season we are in, with its hectic schedule and mess and unscripted events. To be present.

To soak it in, imperfections and all.

With a little Bing Crosby Christmas music playing softly in the background.

The Tradition Continues...

One of the things I love about my oldest kids getting older is the experience of seeing them develop their own interests, loves, hobbies and fascinations.

And the way they see the world.

1 of 8 has grown up with me being an unapologetic shutter bug. She has experienced first hand my various stints in advertising, as voice-over artist and portrait photographer.

And I love seeing how those experiences have shaped her.

She is already much more the photographer than me. It is such a delight to see how she sees the world through a view finder.

Last week, the meteorologists in our area did a climatological strip tease for us and indicated that we might, just might, have a chance of snow.

The kids sat outside Friday morning for hours, searching the heavens for any indications of frozen precip.

They were sadly disappointed.

But 1 of 8 took advantage of the gorgeous overcast lighting and got these shots of the twins.

And her captured vision of them, runny noses and all, delights this mama's heart.

It delights me to see the uniqueness of her eye. It delights me to see what she sees. It delights me to see that she is far better than I am, seeing the color and the composition in ways that I don't.

What a delight.