Number four child was TRYING to whisper in Jolly Old St. Nick’s ear at the Santa Village when she was interrupted.

Elf: “WHICH PHOTO PACKAGE DID YOU BUY?!” the elf barked at us.

Me: “We haven’t chosen one yet,” I said. “We wanted to get in line before it got too long.”

Elf: “WHAT?! Well, you each sat on his lap so you want FOUR photo packages, right?”

Colin:  ”Uh, actually we were going to have them all sit together–”

Elf: “So, what, you WANT to buy FIVE photo packages?”

Us: “Well, er, uh, um –”

Elf (tapping foot): “I can SEE Daddy over here being all SNEAKY with his iPhone when he’s not supposed to be. Why don’t one of you get over here and pick one of of the photo packages. Because Santa’s got a LONG line of people and only 25 minutes until lunch.”

Beat. I exchange glances with Santa. Number 4 is smiling like crazy and whispering in his ear.

Me: “Excuse me. Can my daughter please just talk to Santa for a minute?”
–

Dear Stamford Town Center Mall and Snapfish,

You are on the Naughty List. For sure.

–

This post is part of the December BIG QUESTION Series, “If Only in My Dreams.”

What’s your dream of the holidays? Or how has that dream gone horribly wrong?? Tell us in the comments!

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When I lived in Kansas City, I was single.

This meant that I spent a great deal of my energy and mind space being frustrated and unhappy about my “alone”ness.

Like most young women (and men too, I guess), I really wanted to find someone special to connect with, to be with, so long as we both shall live.

And I did! YAY!

But before that time, I spent many Christmas times alone. Not the actual holiday itself, because on the that day I would head back to my parents’ house and hang out there.

But that time from Thanksgiving and the Plaza Lighting Ceremony to Christmas Eve … that was spent pretty much on my own.

This week, I’ve been nostalgic for Kansas City. I have so many great friends there. This is how I am remembering that time.

Even though I was “alone,” — a girl on her own in the big city — I had a family I created from people I met who loved me even though I wasn’t related to them at all.

Now that I have kids around here, I have lots and lots of things on my To Do List for this time of the years. LOTS.

So it is nice to reflect now and then on the “alone” days. I guess some days I even pine for them. But I also try to remind myself to not make them seem more wonderful than they actually were. Because I know I was pretty lonely back then too.

Now, I just want to remember them… the good, the sad, the beautiful.

The lights, the porches, the roommates, the parties, family visiting, the demanding customers I waited on, the smoky bars, the uncommitted men, and the house with two cats.

But most of all, the friends, the hugs, and the laughing.

–

This post is part of my BIG QUESTION December series “If Only in My Dreams.”

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(This is a guest post from Paul Merrill, part of the If Only in My Dreams: Big Question Series.)

Christmas means different things to different people. After 22 years of marriage, Heather and I are finally understanding how much our families influenced how we enjoy holidays.

• How many presents are under the tree?
• Do you open presents on Christmas morning or Christmas Eve?
• How many lights go up on the house?
• Which way do you have your kids celebrate the holiday?

So, what was that great Christmas memory?

One of my best childhood memories is riding in the back seat of our 1967 VW Beetle on a cold Christmas Eve. The weak heater forced us to huddle close to stay warm. (That model doesn’t even have a fan to force the engine’s heat into the cabin!) My brother Bill and I shared the secret of what present we got each other. I can remember the cold, but, the memory doesn’t stretch far enough to remind me what that present was.

My brother, Bill, and I still are great friends. Though we live 900 miles apart, we still share presents, though not whispered in the back seat of an ancient Beetle. And our presents look a little different.

This year, share some aspect of Christmas with someone you love.

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–
Part of the December “If Only in My Dreams” series. Thanks.

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In which I tried to explain to the kids that our little “artificial” tree is actually “real.”

Existentialism 101

Me: We are putting up our tree this afternoon.
Kid 1: Is it a real tree?
Me: Well, yes, it is a real tree. A real tree in that it isn’t imaginary.
Kid 1: No, I mean, does it–
Kid 2: She means is it the kind with the needles, no.. wait, I mean
Kid 3: The kind that grows out of the ground! That we CHOP DOWN!
Me: Like the one we got when we went to Jones Farm.
Kid 1: I didn’t like that. It was too cold.
Me: The tree we are putting up today is a real tree. A real fake tree.
Kid 2: NO!! I mean, a tree, that like has smell!
Me: I am sure the tree we are putting up today smells. Perhaps like chemicals or petroleum byproduct.
Kid 4: Wha?
Me: Let’s put it this way: The tree is really, real. It will really be in our house.
(Silence)
Kid 3: When can I open presents?
–
Another lovely post in my December “If Only in My Dreams” series. Read more!

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Guest Post by Writer-Runner-Teacher Tricia Dowcett

Whenever my mother asks me what we would like for Christmas, I always reply that I would prefer to do rather than to have.  A show, a day in Boston, a trip to a museum.  She will usually frown and insist that at Christmas, the kids should be able to “open something.”  “They’re not going to get excited when they open Lion King tickets,” she worries.

Admittedly, a gift that is essentially a promise of a gift is a difficult concept for a young kid to wrap his tiny, Target-warped brain around.  But, should that stop us from trying to shift expectations?  Sure, the look of joyous satisfaction on a kid’s face when he gets that Razor scooter or battery-powered Jeep is a pretty rich reward, but who is really more satisfied—the kid, or the parent?  The battery will die and the Jeep will collect mud and spider eggs, and the kid will count the days until the next big holiday so he can get more stuff.

A Walk in the Dark

Tonight, Lexi and I took a walk after dinner, and she asked me if I might point out Orion.  We found the brightest star on his belt, but the clouds prevented us from seeing the rest of his “body.”

“I’ve never seen Orion,” she said, and that surprised me, because I look for him just about every night.

But it’s true: we don’t really go out into the dark and look at the stars.  When we walk in the evening, I’m usually trying to stop the dog from pulling, or the kids from running (we have no sidewalks, so nighttime strolls with the kids can be a little unnerving), so my attention is forward rather than upward.

I told Lexi that on our next camping trip, we’d lie down and look at the stars.  “We can even camp in the backyard again,” she said.

“Yep.  … Hey!” I said, an idea taking shape, “maybe we can go camping on Christmas!”

She laughed.  “Mom!  You don’t go camping on Christmas.”

Too Small for Presents

One of my favorite Christmas Eves, I told her, was spent under the stars, in a natural hot spring in Colorado.  The pool was full of snow-drunk revelers— families, older folks, young couples —all joyously creating an alternative Christmas.  I slept in a cabin about the size of Thoreau’s hut, too small for presents, but large enough to fit a little wood stove, our wet hiking boots, and a bottle of champagne.

I’ve celebrated 39 Christmases, and this is the one I still hold close to me, in a little sachet under my sweater.

Why not, Lexi?  Why not go camping on Christmas?

–

This post is part of the December Series “If Only in My Dreams.” Click here to read more.

Feel free to tweet (#BigQDreams), comment, or if you have more to say, click here to submit.

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I need a vacation.
Let’s all insert here for a minute the list of blessings I have.

• Nice house
• Good family
• Everything I need and want (food, clothing, shelter)
• Friends
• Education
• Human Rights
• Time to meditate and do yoga
• Lots of good books, and a library card too.
• Many more

OK, even in the face of all these blessings, I know there comes a time when the mind and body need to get away.

Out of the normal, out of the routine, outside of life-par-normale. For longer than a couple of hours or a day.

For a VACATION.

Colin and I love to travel. We both agree we are most happy with he in the driver’s seat, me in the passenger’s seat, the iPod filled with music lists and podcasts, the van filled to the brim with chattering — or snoozy — ones, and the destination programed in the GPS. It’s the kind of time that lets us simulatneously switch off and tune in.

I can feel the physical changes in my body and my mind when we set off for “vacation.” Even if there’s traffic, arguments, or bad diners, the entire experience feels different.

I mean, not to sound idiotically obvious, but it feels, well, separate. Switched off, and tuned in.

But, we can’t take vacations right now.

Airfares disagree with our budget and our schedules seem to continually argue with any meaningful drive time.

So how do we teleport ourselves to Vacationland — to that place where we can all just chill for awhile — without leaving home? It seems to be a mystery I cannot solve.

I’m open to suggestions.

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Here’s what keeps happening… I keep getting self-conscious and don’t want to say anything so I stay quiet.

Then something like a week passes and I think: what happened to that time? Oh my goodness, if I am just quiet, if I don’t say anything, what meaning does it all have?!

How can I remember the beautiful moments, the hilarious things said (“Mom, look. I have bird poop on my finger! How did it get there?“) if I am so quiet?

I am looking up, very busy, and I don’t have time to stop and scribble, to note the sound of the cicadas in the maple on this cool, breezy Saturday.

I don’t have time to remind myself how much I love living at the break in the esplanade, because it means hearing the cars slow, pause, wheels resist the ground, and break apart the rubber, sighing as they U-turn.

I am slicing this watermelon and chunking it and putting its body in a plastic box for later. I don’t have time to note the feel of the knife resisting the thick rind, wondering how the rind was imagined first, and the artist’s eye who made the flesh bright red.

Those trees have something to say to me, but I am very very busy sweeping white sand from Dubai off my screen porch!

How can I leave a week go by and bear to do all this laundry?

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Blue plastic comb
Rosemary Spray
Bother the louse
And its tedium.
Glass-half full?
Long sessions
Together on a
Sun-warmed stoop
Hand in her hair.

Day 17, A River of Stones

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Eating means making
Mess to small
People
And to some of them
Sticky marshmallow
Becoming
Hand spider web
Is the reason.

Day 7, A River of Stones

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