Yes yes YES! Reminds me of the time they found Chippey (yes the Elf) in my underwear drawer. First so many other things they could have found (🍭). Second what a relief!
You are making me think in so many directions..., laugh, as well. First of all, can you imagine if we used the PAM term in France? We would turn into PFM (perfect French mother): no way we would ever gain (or keep) respect from anyone, with a non-pronounceable "alias".
Second, you pinpointed a very tricky part of parenting: where does the limit lie? How far and how long should we go, both for our own sake and our kids' sake?
I heard so many times about the magical aspect of taking on Santa or Easter Bunny roles (we have the catholic bells actually, detaching themselves from the Roman churches and flying from Rome to France to distribute the chocolate eggs - yeah right!).
I often noticed many mothers think it's wonderful to get reacquainted with your "inner child" through keeping up the myths alive for your own kids. Is it really?
I LOVE adulthood. I don't like play time, inner child stuff, lying like a giant worm on the floor to try to "play" again in order to entertain m kid.
And the day all those myths were slaughtered as my (then 8 yo) son asked more and more relevant questions, underlining how little belief left he had in those myths, that day was a liberation. I finally could tell him. The truth.
His main comment was "So you basically lied to me for years, and that is really, really wrong, whatever explanation you have." His other comment was "Wait. So WHO ate the cookies and drank the milk? each Xmas? Who left footsteps on the parquet? " (we had gone as far as to make him notice Santa's dusty footsteps on the parquet, oui oui).
Maybe, Max being the oldest, needs to take the lead at time, while the excitement was apparently still very high - and so it means you did a fantastic jo and that is all they were waiting for. Egg hunt. Because the other way round, the life that lies ahead will be tough and at times nasty and cruel. But there will have been magic until the moment the kid's maturity and capacity of reasoning takes over. Be proud!
You probably will put Max in a very special position of the responsible big brother, if you tell him those are myths, but he has to keep the secret alive for his younger siblings so their heart does not break. Would he do it ?
As for trying to explain patiently big concepts to our kids in a positive way, instead of being negative and criticizing their behaviour: sure, we all want that. We all try. But at times, we will fail. Our own insecurities hit us first. And we become an aggressor and we put our kid down to a certain extent. Because when we do criticize our child's behaviour, we know that we first criticize ourselves. The unsolved. The failure. The mistakes. Our mini us carry along with them the best and the worst of ourselves, while also becoming totally someone else (thank God).
The symbolic (yet real) death of the rabbit was a fantastic part of your writing. I love that you ended it that way. !
Once again you are able to find and write the feeling truth. Take the PAM myth and donate it.
Have the dinner with your husband and Christopher- let him in on the happiness of truth- a loving family.
In my house we took a branch and hung little ornaments- or nestled them at the base- but ours is a pantheist family-yes there were eggs but we hid them-
Your ability to write about what is false and shabby is spot on- give that to your sons.
oh I love this! getting “I don’t believe you…You’re a LIAR!” printed on a shirt!
also what is it with or parents hiding our gifts in garbage bags in our playrooms-Christmas time for me as an 8 year old was peak FBI skills season- that little story made me giggle and think of my dad.
I now look forward to Thursdays, because I receive your latest drop.
Yes, the holidays. High Holy Days. What a trick. I was at my most exhausted, worst, low bottom, self sacrificing/ resentful, right around Christmas when Ava was little. I felt this insane drive to make it Perfect for her and would end up in bed, moping or worse for my pour under appreciated self.
When I was little my mother, your grandmother, used to play on the "stocking" and fill a pantyhose- both toes to full belly- with little things, each individually wrapped, and sneak it onto the foot of my bed (some winters in what was to become your childhood bedroom) before I woke. Cans of silly string, those little flower pots, where if you pushed up the bottom, the flower wilted and then sprang back to life when you released... the square tile puzzles with one missing tile, you had to shift around and around to get the picture into place. Those were, I still maintain, impossible.
That was magical, and the tree.
Other than that, Christmas was mostly mom sad, often about where she may have gone wrong with Uncle Chris, and I'm sure also regrets that Pappy had been pushed out of the nest too early.
Pappy had a lot of things right, I think.
He was and actor and in his own world much of the time, but at the bone, he was not of artifice. I think he knew that the performance was only for play and that the real truth was what was Holy. And that the truth was love, not perfection, or getting it right, just unearned and unconditioned love.
None of us can ever get it right. We fail our children and they fail us and we get sad and mad and then repair and come back together. If it was all perfect all the time, no one would ever grow up and move into the world. I do think you are onto something, moving closer to perfection is to be truthful and respectful of our children's intellects. Let's let them in on the secret that we are all just doing the best we can, that we love each other, despite everything, and that that is really beyond sufficient, it is the holy state of grace.
Kat, this is such a gift to me. I had no idea you had Christmases at Dayspring or that your mom did gifts in such a whimsical way. (Also: I too have failed to ever complete a tile puzzle.) How have I got these huge holes about my grandmother? Time for a visit, I think.
Also, I feel strongly that your writing should be in the world. It's so good. The poem is still with me. I shared this comment with Chris (I hope you don't mind) and he was similarly floored by the honesty. I feel so grateful to you for sharing not just your experience, but the memories of our family.
Hello Isabel, this is a perfect Easter story - the death of a lower level of consciousness, and a rebirth to a new and higher awareness and integration of what was actually there all the time. You captured it beautifully in all its' messy extremes.
I loved it, and Aunt Kat's response as well, because I felt the love in both.
It's remarkable that you saw this, Momo. I hope always to be in the process of moving past an old paradigm into a new level of consciousness. I think often about how to talk about returning to total oneness and belonging with each other. But I don't dare say so... yet :) Thank you for seeing me.
I loved living Easter with you and yours! Thank you💗
Mary, I can't wait to see you again!
Well said💕
Love to have you here, Mary Ellen!!
Why oh why are we all lying to each other?! Thanks for your beautiful insight.
Also why are we all AGREEING to the lies???
Sounds insane to me!
This is brilliant my friend. Doen catalog egg hunting the Ynez 😹😘
teeheehee
Ooooo to have that steadfastness of belief! Cue me practicing in front of a mirror: "I don’t believe you; you’re a liar. In other words, I choose."
Yeah, DOC is a must watch for swagger-appropriation.
Beautiful. 😘
Many thanks for being here, always, Val.
The pleasure's all mine! xo
Yes yes YES! Reminds me of the time they found Chippey (yes the Elf) in my underwear drawer. First so many other things they could have found (🍭). Second what a relief!
Same here!!
You are making me think in so many directions..., laugh, as well. First of all, can you imagine if we used the PAM term in France? We would turn into PFM (perfect French mother): no way we would ever gain (or keep) respect from anyone, with a non-pronounceable "alias".
Second, you pinpointed a very tricky part of parenting: where does the limit lie? How far and how long should we go, both for our own sake and our kids' sake?
I heard so many times about the magical aspect of taking on Santa or Easter Bunny roles (we have the catholic bells actually, detaching themselves from the Roman churches and flying from Rome to France to distribute the chocolate eggs - yeah right!).
I often noticed many mothers think it's wonderful to get reacquainted with your "inner child" through keeping up the myths alive for your own kids. Is it really?
I LOVE adulthood. I don't like play time, inner child stuff, lying like a giant worm on the floor to try to "play" again in order to entertain m kid.
And the day all those myths were slaughtered as my (then 8 yo) son asked more and more relevant questions, underlining how little belief left he had in those myths, that day was a liberation. I finally could tell him. The truth.
His main comment was "So you basically lied to me for years, and that is really, really wrong, whatever explanation you have." His other comment was "Wait. So WHO ate the cookies and drank the milk? each Xmas? Who left footsteps on the parquet? " (we had gone as far as to make him notice Santa's dusty footsteps on the parquet, oui oui).
Maybe, Max being the oldest, needs to take the lead at time, while the excitement was apparently still very high - and so it means you did a fantastic jo and that is all they were waiting for. Egg hunt. Because the other way round, the life that lies ahead will be tough and at times nasty and cruel. But there will have been magic until the moment the kid's maturity and capacity of reasoning takes over. Be proud!
You probably will put Max in a very special position of the responsible big brother, if you tell him those are myths, but he has to keep the secret alive for his younger siblings so their heart does not break. Would he do it ?
As for trying to explain patiently big concepts to our kids in a positive way, instead of being negative and criticizing their behaviour: sure, we all want that. We all try. But at times, we will fail. Our own insecurities hit us first. And we become an aggressor and we put our kid down to a certain extent. Because when we do criticize our child's behaviour, we know that we first criticize ourselves. The unsolved. The failure. The mistakes. Our mini us carry along with them the best and the worst of ourselves, while also becoming totally someone else (thank God).
The symbolic (yet real) death of the rabbit was a fantastic part of your writing. I love that you ended it that way. !
Once again you are able to find and write the feeling truth. Take the PAM myth and donate it.
Have the dinner with your husband and Christopher- let him in on the happiness of truth- a loving family.
In my house we took a branch and hung little ornaments- or nestled them at the base- but ours is a pantheist family-yes there were eggs but we hid them-
Your ability to write about what is false and shabby is spot on- give that to your sons.
oh I love this! getting “I don’t believe you…You’re a LIAR!” printed on a shirt!
also what is it with or parents hiding our gifts in garbage bags in our playrooms-Christmas time for me as an 8 year old was peak FBI skills season- that little story made me giggle and think of my dad.
xxx
YES!!! 100% spy skills always highest at holidays. But if you hide stuff in the playroom, you're a Santa who WANTS to be discovered.
😂😂ABSOLUTELY! that Santa wants to be discovered so he can retire.
Haha!! 1,000%
I now look forward to Thursdays, because I receive your latest drop.
Yes, the holidays. High Holy Days. What a trick. I was at my most exhausted, worst, low bottom, self sacrificing/ resentful, right around Christmas when Ava was little. I felt this insane drive to make it Perfect for her and would end up in bed, moping or worse for my pour under appreciated self.
When I was little my mother, your grandmother, used to play on the "stocking" and fill a pantyhose- both toes to full belly- with little things, each individually wrapped, and sneak it onto the foot of my bed (some winters in what was to become your childhood bedroom) before I woke. Cans of silly string, those little flower pots, where if you pushed up the bottom, the flower wilted and then sprang back to life when you released... the square tile puzzles with one missing tile, you had to shift around and around to get the picture into place. Those were, I still maintain, impossible.
That was magical, and the tree.
Other than that, Christmas was mostly mom sad, often about where she may have gone wrong with Uncle Chris, and I'm sure also regrets that Pappy had been pushed out of the nest too early.
Pappy had a lot of things right, I think.
He was and actor and in his own world much of the time, but at the bone, he was not of artifice. I think he knew that the performance was only for play and that the real truth was what was Holy. And that the truth was love, not perfection, or getting it right, just unearned and unconditioned love.
None of us can ever get it right. We fail our children and they fail us and we get sad and mad and then repair and come back together. If it was all perfect all the time, no one would ever grow up and move into the world. I do think you are onto something, moving closer to perfection is to be truthful and respectful of our children's intellects. Let's let them in on the secret that we are all just doing the best we can, that we love each other, despite everything, and that that is really beyond sufficient, it is the holy state of grace.
Kat, this is such a gift to me. I had no idea you had Christmases at Dayspring or that your mom did gifts in such a whimsical way. (Also: I too have failed to ever complete a tile puzzle.) How have I got these huge holes about my grandmother? Time for a visit, I think.
Also, I feel strongly that your writing should be in the world. It's so good. The poem is still with me. I shared this comment with Chris (I hope you don't mind) and he was similarly floored by the honesty. I feel so grateful to you for sharing not just your experience, but the memories of our family.
Hello Isabel, this is a perfect Easter story - the death of a lower level of consciousness, and a rebirth to a new and higher awareness and integration of what was actually there all the time. You captured it beautifully in all its' messy extremes.
I loved it, and Aunt Kat's response as well, because I felt the love in both.
It's remarkable that you saw this, Momo. I hope always to be in the process of moving past an old paradigm into a new level of consciousness. I think often about how to talk about returning to total oneness and belonging with each other. But I don't dare say so... yet :) Thank you for seeing me.