On the Eve of the End of an Era

I overheard my husband talking to our daughter as he tucked her into bed.
"Do you know what tomorrow is?" he whispered, unable to mask the excitement in his voice.
"What?" She yell-whispered back.
"It's Daddy's Graduation! That means I am done with school!"
"And you get to wear a dress!" 

Yes, tomorrow is Graduation Day, and yes, Kevin is most excited about Dad's graduation gown (aka dress). It's a fitting ending, considering at the beginning of his MBA, it took weeks to explain to her that his messenger bag backpack was not a purse.

Scott has been in school our entire marriage, save for a couple of summer semesters and a six-month break between his undergraduate degree and his MBA (during that time, however, he took the GMAT twice, spent time applying, and attended orientations, so I'm not sure it really counts).

Getting Scott to study--or even attend class some nights--during his undergraduate courses was torturous for the both of us. He was only a year or two into his degree when we were married three weeks into the semester. I knew we were in it for the long haul, being only a few semesters away from graduation myself. By the time he could call himself an Aggie Alumni, we had made a major move, had a baby, and dealt with some significant challenges. I was actually relieved when he was accepted into his MBA program. I knew it would provide him with growth and more opportunities to find his career path. That excitement faded when a week or so later when I retook a test and passed with two pink lines.

I'm not one of those wives who excels or even functions when her husband is away. I cringe to think of Scott ever having a job that requires extensive travel. Having him away in the evenings, even for just three hours, forced me to grow in ways I never really wanted to. For example, it wasn't until the beginning of this semester when I finally mastered the skill of Putting The Children To Bed By Myself, and even then, most of the time I only managed a 50% success rate.

Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes I find myself mourning the fact that our college days are almost over. Somehow I am still functioning under that unicornian principle of  "when he's gone I have time to myself"--which I have never had, except for maybe five hours this whole semester when the kids actually fell asleep and I got to read, or write, or clean (hah, that never actually happened), or just sit on the couch and stare into space. On one such evening in the middle of November, I turned on a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie. Scott came home in the middle of it, excited to tell me all about his class, and I simply looked at him and said, "I am watching this movie. You may talk to me when it is over." That's the closest I ever got to having an agenda for "me time" during class time, so really, it's no great loss, because everyone knows Candace Cameron Bure falls in love with the guy ten years younger than her and eventually reconnects with her dad, who is probably Santa Claus.

Besides, the things I've learned about myself during the past two years aren't things I've learned when I am alone. Okay, I take that back. The most important lessons I've learned about myself have happened when I am alone--with two children.  Like how, when I get upset or frustrated, it almost always stems from my own selfish desires (aka, get your bum back in bed and be quiet because Mom wants to read this book not take you potty for the millionth time today!). I've learned that there are going to be days when I just don't feel well, and that I can't always count on Scott to rescue me, even though he would if he could and usually tries to even when he can't. Sometimes I have to cowgirl up and put on my big girl panties and pretend like I'm not tired and I don't feel like I need to throw up and I actually still like my children when they whine.

So, yes, I do get to pick where we go to lunch tomorrow, because I have earned knowledge in my own right, and I may not have paid for it with FAFSA, but I have paid, people. I've stretched my brain and my body, trying to soothe fried nerves while listening to him come home and spout of the merits of Tesla Motors, business strategies, financial reports, and information security and the stupidity of classmates who don't know how to write a decent paper because they haven't lived with and Editor Wife for five years.

I've done my share of "so when are you going to go and take that test?" and "we probably shouldn't turn on that show tonight, you need to work on your paper" and Saturday night "did you turn in that assignment that is due tomorrow?" reminders. I've stocked the pantry with Swedish Fish during mid-terms, given pep-talks before stressful presentations (C's Get Degrees! You'll Do Great Honey!") and commiserated with "Death to Doris" choruses when macro-economics ruined the last half of our summer. I've picnicked on the campus lawn while my babies crawled through clovers and grass, eaten more Arby's Jr Classic Roast Beef sandwiches than I can count, and gained a few pounds because meeting at a "runchraunt" every class night was the only way the kids and I could make it through a twelve-and-a-half-hour day. I've soothed "I JUST WANT DADDY!" meltdowns and given in to "can I stay up until Daddy gets home?" requests.  I've edited with a baby on my lap, wrestling with commas while keeping the kid away from the mouse. I've nodded my head and "participated" (listened) to discussions about things I know nothing about (nor did I usually care about at 9:00 PM on a Monday night). I've suggested paper topics and presentation strategies, added a little style here and there to documents and PowerPoint slides, and mostly just stepped back in awe of how much growth Scott was experiencing with each semester. No longer did I have to beg him to study or go to class--first, because I am too tired to nag these days, and second, because he had learned to enjoy learning.

And you know what? I don't even feel the need to edit that last ten-page paper, because I know he knows how to write a proper paper on his own, and has, for a long time.

And tomorrow, three of us are going to put on dresses with a hint of purple and we are going to graduate.

Becoming Mrs. Claus

I put up our second Christmas tree yesterday.  It has taken me a week, but all of our indoor decorations are up and we are finally fully Christmas functional. Late last night, as we were playing Yahtzee by the light of the giant tree that takes up a third of our living room, my husband turned to me and asked, "Do you like having a second tree?" I just smiled guiltily and nodded. and he smiled too, and I know we were both thinking the same thing.

I have become my mother.

Last year I wrote a post about my dad being Santa Claus. Nothing about that has changed. This year, however, I am realizing just how vital Mrs. Claus is in all this holiday hullabaloo. 

I have been working on Christmas ever since the day after Sly's birthday in August. With Scott being super busy at work and overloaded with his last semester of his MBA, and trying to keep my depths of depression at bay, I needed something to focus on, and what is cheerier than Christmas? Nothing, so Christmas is the happy place I went to when the weather was still sporting 80 degree temperatures.  

And, even with all that prep, we hit December 1st and my advent calendar and Jesus Tree still weren't up, but that's okay. My kids can't read a calendar and Kevin was more than happy to put two Jesus Tree ornaments up last night. 

After Sly went to sleep, I cuddled Kevin on the couch and I read "The Polar Express" to her. She is finally at an age and attention span that allows me to read longer books to her. As I read, it wasn't my voice I heard telling the tale of the bell still rings for those who believe. 

It was my mother's.

I heard the inflections in her voice. The parts she would emphasize, the things she would point out in the pictures. I could smell the candle my Dad always burned at Christmastime layered with the organic scent of my Grandpa's homegrown Christmas tree. I could hear the Anne Murray and Yanni CDs playing softly in the background. I could feel, more than see, the primary-colored lights on our family tree. 

I remember one Christmas in particular when my mom took the time to read to us each evening. By that point in time, we were older school children and we'd either embraced the deliciousness of reading on our own (me) or tried to ditch books altogether (my siblings). Looking back, I think it must have been one of those times when my mom was at the end of her rope and grasping at straws as to how to keep us occupied and her calm and keep the home feeling like Christmas even when the blizzards were inside and not outside. 

Granted, we weren't super excited when she gathered us in the family room and told us she was going to read a Christmas book to us each night. But, in true Mrs. Claus style, she found a most magical story that appealed to all of our ages and within a few days, we were begging her to read more about Gladys and Shazaaamm! Unto you a child is born! and Imogene and the rest of the Herdmans. We were actually sad when the book was over.  

Perhaps you've seen that saying floating around on facebook: "There is no app to replace your lap." 

In this season of mile-long to do lists, too much sugar, and closets full of hidden presents, I challenge you to add one more thing to your plate. Read to your children. It doesn't matter if they are two weeks old, two-years-old, twelve or twenty. Being read to by a parent is something that sticks with children so much longer than Tickle Me Elmo or the newest iPhone. 

It is a gift that lasts for generations, because someday, your daughter might be reading to her children and it will be your voice proclaiming, "Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."

Here are some of my favorite books for reading out loud:

For little ones:

• Llama Llama Holiday Drama by Anna Dewdney
• Babylit version of A Christmas Carol by Jennifer Adams
• Sing to Baby Jesus by Rachelle Pace Castor
• Five Christmas Penguins by Steven Lenton

For younger children:

• How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Suess
• The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg
• The Tale of the Three Trees by Angela Hunt
• The Legend of the Candy Cane by Lori Walburg
• My Treasury of Christmas Carols & Stories
• The Nutcracker (any version)

For elementary-age children:

• Christmas in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder
• The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson
• Any of the American Girl "book three" books, for example "Molly's Surprise"
• Chapter Six of "Ramona and Her Father" by Beverly Cleary

For pre-teens and teenagers:

• A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
• The Little Red Buckets by Lynda M. Nelson
• Two From Galilee by Marjorie Holmes
• The Christmas Box by Richard Paul Evans (this is actually a triology, and I especially enjoyed The Timepiece)
• Little Women by Louisa May Alcott