Grandma can't trump Santa and other rules of the holidays

My boy was the first grandchild. Now there’s another grandson and one day, there will surely be more babies in our family. But once upon a time, all of the merriment and consumerism of Christmas in my family swaddled my son.

He was only a few months old during his first holiday season. We stuck him in a stocking, propped a Santa cap upon his sweet sort-of tiny head. I changed him several times a day just to be sure each seasonal onesie, pair of candy-can striped footy jammies and bow-tie and argyle sweater set got its turn.

We were blissful with this yuletide child. Until Christmas Day.

Surrounded by piles of presents and shredded wrapping paper and flashing camera lights and cooing family members, my child was screaming his head off. His dad and I wanted to give him one of those crazy plastic arches with dangling toys for the baby to grab, teeth on and gaze at happily. But the one we chose in our new-parent stupidity played music and vibrated and could have danced and dispensed non-alcoholic beer for all I knew back then.

At first, my boy smiled, wide-eyed at the new plastic universe around him. Then his dad hit the giant orange button on top and the circus sent the child into a flurry. Which sent us into a tornado of rocking and singing and tucking everything in sight away.

The baby stopped crying. For a bit. But he was rattled, unsettled and overstimulated because our own circus hadn’t yet stopped. The second act to Santa was Grandma. And her act was bigger than the big top. It was over the top.

What happened next? With a wink of an eye and a twitch of the nose and click of the mouse, you can find out on Sassafrass Says So at Babble Voices.

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Can a Jewish-Buddhist guy learn to love Christmas?

  The Not Boyfriend has been in my life for three years, but it is the first Christmas we will spend together. It’s the first Christmas he will celebrate in decades. For other couples, this might feel like a natural progression. But for us, and for his winding path of faith, it will be an interesting and tentative walk.

The Not Boyfriend was raised Jewish, and as soon as he was out on his own, he began to explore many other ways of being spiritual. He read and read and read, he dove deep into the waters of Maui, kibbutzed, floated in the Dead Sea, traveled extensively, sat in meditation, and finally shaved his head in recognition of his Buddhist journey.  He knows much more about the Bible than I do, a girl brought up in a Christian church and the granddaughter of a minister. But he also knows much more about the world’s religions and their histories and commonalities than I do. It’s part of how he serves his higher power. We don’t practice the same ways, we don’t hold fast to all of the same tenets, but our spirits are very much in sync. And when I tease him about reincarnation and he teases me about the Baby Jesus, it is usually part of some late-night conversation in the pitch dark about something that resides in the most protected parts of our soul.

Is it possible to open him to Christmas? To show him our world like a glittery snow globe that he will want to fit into with us?

Read more on Sasssafrass Says So on Babble Voices.

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A few minutes past midnight

Walking as softly as I can
down a creaky corridor
I turn into his room
make my way to the bed
The stillness is its own noise
and it is far too dark to see
I raise my hand to the familiar
place in the air
It's the same as being underwater, I think
Reaching upward to light at the surface because its somehow familiar, comforting
Because its just the place your hand should be
My palm falls momentarily on his spine
I don't squint this time
I don't lean in closer as usual
I exhale just a bit
I can feel his breath at my wrist
All is well.

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