That One Time We Went to The Nutcracker...

 

(All events are my recollection of what happened. Others in the family have their own memories about that day, but they can write it on their own blog;))

As the Christmas season unfolds, I'm realizing how much Jace is soaking in of all the excitement that comes with all things Christmas. It's making me really want to put some effort into his experiences and start some traditions with our family. The other night was the first time he sat through a whole entire movie and it was The Polar Express! I love that his first movie was a Christmas movie! I foresee making us all watch The Polar Express every year under a pile of blankets, until he's old and I'm dead.

This desire to create traditions reminds me of some of the things we did when I was younger. There are some great, warm memories but there are also some failed attempts at Christmas family fun. Like that one time we went to the Nutcracker...

The night started off with the 5 of us going out to a Thai restaurant for dinner. My brothers and I were already not amused at the idea of seeing a ballet and muttered under our breath the whole time about how we should've been going to a Sonics game instead. Possibly due to our wish of attending a sporting event, we dressed the part. As we walked into all the glamor that the Nutcracker is, with the beautiful building and everyone dressed to the nines, it was as if the turn table scratched, the party stopped and all heads swung in our direction. I was basically in sweats, Joe was in a Chicago Bulls coat and Emmi was in an LA Raiders parka. Not only were we the few 'non-white' people there, but it was as if we were dressed like street people at the Presidential Ball.

We had no choice but to carry on and so carry on we did. After climbing over elegantly dressed rich folks, we finally took our seats. Since Joe is the middle child he always ends up in the worst spot, so fate would have it that he would sit approximately one inch away from the fancily dressed, old woman next to him. She was obviously a seasoned Nutcracker goer and not a fan of us.

The show began and we were instantly confused. Mice having sword fights and men in super tight tights leaping around? My then very mature brothers not so affectionately started calling it "The Buttcracker" in honor of the skin tight outfits that showed off everything. They then read in the program that the lead ballet dude's real name was Stankov. So, it quickly turned into "Stanko Buttcracker." I'm sure the old lady was even more thrilled and loved us more than before.

As if the night wasn't already going fabulously, Joe started to feel a little sick. As he sat there watching the leaping and twirling, he started to look a little sweaty. Then a lot sweaty. He suddenly could barely hold up his body and was practically laying his head on the old woman's shoulder. In an attempt to ease his tummy, one of my parents (who will remain nameless, lest CPS gets a hold of this) decided to buy him a VERY expensive peppermint hot chocolate. As my brother seemed to get sicker and a little weirder, someone realized the peppermint was not just flavoring, it was actually Peppermint Schnapps. Unbeknownst  to the parent buyer the hot chocolate was spiked and my brother was definitely underage. We shuffled him out just in time to witness his glamorous Thai food puke fest in that fancy, gold-plated Nutcracker parking lot (okay, it wasn't gold-plated, but may as well have been). So there we were: brown, dressed like gangsters, and up-chucking on everyone's parade.

Needless to say, it was an attempt at making a tradition, that failed miserably. I'm pretty sure the Nutcracker security has all our faces on their most wanted list.

So, while I'm finding new ways to start fun family traditions with my new family, the Nutcracker hasn't been added to our list of things to try, nor probably ever will.

Because the Nutcracker has been tried, and it was too good the first time to ever try again.

When Christmas Loses its Magic

When I was growing up, Christmastime always had this magical element to it. There was just something whimsical in the air that made everyday exciting. The lights, the tree, helping mom put the ornaments on. The possibility of trading school days for snow days. The Christmas outfits and cookies for Santa. Knowing he wasn't real but still kind of hoping maybe he was. Family time, board games.Sleeping in sleeping bags out in the living room and watching Christmas movies with my brothers. There was always this cozy, secure, protective feeling the holidays brought. As if life wrapped me up in a giant-sized, holiday down comforter that I just cozied my way into and wanted to stay forever.

I don't remember how old I was, but I was still fairly young on that Christmas morning when my grandfather died. I didn't know him. He lived in India and at that point in my life I had met him twice and once was when I was too little to remember. So, my memories of him aren't many, if any. But, that Christmas morning was the very first time I saw my indestructible dad and uncle cry. It was the year Christmas kinda lost its magic and I thought it might never come back.

It took a few years before Christmas went back to the way it was, but ever since then, my heart gets a little heavy around the holidays because I know that it's not always all it's cracked up to be. This expectation of magic is hard to hold up when you're in the middle of the things of life. Pain doesn't pause when Black Friday starts. This year, I'm thinking of a friend who is celebrating his first Christmas without his dad, a wife without her husband. I'm thinking of a friend who just went through traumatic, physical pain and is learning to live and function through that. I'm thinking of friends who are watching their families fall apart and others who have shattered, broken hearts.

There is all this pressure to join in with the glamour of the 'holiday spirit' when reality might be you have to change the station when you hear "Joy to the World" because it's just so hard to find joy in your world right now--or the next carol-er at your door is gonna get punched in the nose.

And yet, the real Christmas story was not a glamorous one. A teenage mother gave birth in a barn and a king wanted to kill her baby--who happened to be the Savior of the world. The real beauty of this season is that it reminds us that grace stepped into a world of pain and suffering so we wouldn't have to endure it alone. We have a God who brings comfort and peace when Christmas lights and songs cannot.

The one who created the world didn't come with glamorous, flashing lights. He chose to come in a posture of humility and vulnerability. He created a place for all of us to fit.

So, whether this is a magical season or a difficult one---you fit beautifully in it, just as you are.