I suppose there are just some times when, as a four-year-old looking to go to bed on one’s own terms, it becomes necessary to curl up in bed with your santa hat firmly on. And dream of Christmas, I’d reckon.
When I first got a Mac, I stumbled across a program that strings up Christmas lights all around the outside of your desktop. And for the last 4 or 5 years, I’ve turned on the program at Christmas-time to help with the spirit of the season.
This year is no different. So if you too want to rock some Christmas lights: MacLamps is it. I haven’t tried it in Snow Leopard, but hopefully it has no issues. (Actually, I’m running v1.2, not even the newest 2.0. Shows what I know.)
I didn’t grow up in a house with tons of lights up, but there is certainly something comforting to me about them; maybe it’s the short days that the lights help combat in my head.
As a bonus:
I just found another program called “Sno” that drops snowflakes on your desktop (in case you want something less tacky.) The link to download it seems dead/down, so I’m mirroring the file here, as I found a copy from a messageboard circa 2002. So here that is: linky for Sno.
And now my desktop makes me look like the crazy cat woman that you work with. I’m not quite as into Christmas as perhaps the combination of these two programs might imply. Ah well.
Tis the season.
I love it when you smile. I love it when you’re reading and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. I love standing next to you in church and just listening to you sing. I love the dance we do in the kitchen, trying to get out of each other’s way. I love watching you soothe the kids when they’re having a tough time.
I love that you put up with being married to a dork like me. I love that you can now read a street sign at half a mile in the dark on a rainy night, you bionic freak. I love when you navigate. I love when you suggest we just go out rather than one of us making dinner when neither of us is really up to it at that moment. I love the way we make space for each other in bed. I love the way your hair smells. I love that you still think I care whether or not you shaved. That’s just cute, dangit.
I love how you dress the house for Christmas and how special that makes me feel. In a crazy way, I love that your shoes are all over the house. I love when you kiss me in the dark, early hours of morning. I love your bare back. I love your giant pink socks and your comfy clothes. I love how the cat always treats you like she hasn’t seen a human in weeks when she sees you. I love how much the kids love you and adore you. I love to daydream back to that time when we were in a one bedroom apartment in college (why is it that we lived right across the street from the bus stop but were always scrambling to catch it?). I love the is-he-doing-what-I-think-he’s-doing look you had on your face when I proposed. I love that you said yes.
I love our life together. And I love you.
Reed fell asleep in my arms tonight. It’s the best gift I could have ever asked for.
It’s been a while since he’s fallen asleep as I’ve held him. I know the gaps between these special times will grow and grow until some point they are gone forever. The thought of that is crushing. I guess in some ways that burden of knowledge for parents is the flip side to the blissful innocence we try to guard for our children. Last night, as I turned a toy box inside out and rolled it up in the dark outside by the trash bin (no recycling for this stuff, lest the jolly fat guy gets found out), I felt at once both complicit and dutiful, as though I were perpetuating a lie but at the same time alright about it. We were careful last night to cover our tracks, to deliver on that promise that Santa holds for the young. In a year when I’ve had to explain death to our son, I wasn’t about to have Santa flicker out of his life, too.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve wondered why the season felt ‘off’ for me, as if I or it (or both) was out of place. And I’d heard others say similar things. I don’t think I realized what was wrong until just a moment ago. It’s about hope. News media errantly so often tries to quantify the Christmas season in terms of retail sales, when what it is really trying to gauge is how much hope we have. And while perhaps we manifest that hope in what we’re willing to spend at the store (i.e. here’s how hopeful we are about our economic situation, our relationships and therefore how we give), it can and should come in other outlets.
But with death and the constant background din of the bad economy, layoffs, foreclosures, it’s been hard to shake the feeling of malaise. Indeed, of hopelessness.
After days and days of bleak, grey skies, of my beautiful daughter asking in a worried voice “Where sun go?”, of, frankly, constantly looking down because there just wasn’t anything seemingly to look up for, the clouds parted today–literally and figuratively–and I saw the brightness of the sun, and (perhaps a more religious man than I would say) maybe even the Son.
Isn’t that something we cling to in these cycles we experience? As the earth tilts from the sun and the whole world seems to wither and die, don’t we frail humans need some light to give us hope?
I suppose in many ways, today was the kind of day we should try to have more often. We simply stayed in our jammies all day, played with toys and ate cookies. And it was great. I’d like to wrap today up and stick it in a snow globe, so whenever I needed to, I could simply take it off a shelf and have it all over again.
I just woke up laughing from a dream I was having. I’m not sure if I’ve ever done that before, but it is an unusual experience. I wish I could remember more of the dream, something about standing in an open field, three old men arguing over some misunderstanding about a Christmas tradition, calamity ensues etc., etc. Don’t worry, it doesn’t sound funny to me anymore either.
I miss my childhood version of Christmas. We used to have my Grandmother, my parents, four sets of Aunts and Uncles, and ten cousins, all in one house together for the holidays. We all used to spend up to a week together, and it never occurred to anyone that not being available for Christmas was an option. There doesn’t seem to be too many families built like that anymore. Now, I get a few days off at most and my wife spends every other Christmas working at the hospital. My daughter won’t even see another child on Christmas eve or Christmas, which is very sad to me. On a brighter note, she’s very excited, and we’re excited for her, and that’s a good feeling.
Christmas trivia: at 6:17 a.m. est. on Christmas day, there are 25,561 players logged in to Full Tilt Poker playing for money.