Hallmark Life is a Special Occasion Archives

Hallmark: My Favorite Christmas Traditions

December 14, 2012 By Kelle

This post is a Hallmark sponsored post. I am being paid by Hallmark to write it, but all writing, ideas and opinions are mine. Thankfully, Hallmark and I share the same idea–that little moments are to be celebrated and that good people, good efforts and good intentions deserve a spotlight. See Hallmark Life is a Special Occasion for more details, like them on Facebook, and/or sign up for their e-mail messages HERE.

I don’t think I really understood the importance of holiday tradition until I became a mom. My grandparents–the authors of many of our Christmas traditions–passed away just months before Brett and I got married, and Lainey was born just a little over a year later; so 2007 was it for me–my daughter’s first Christmas and my opportunity to instill years of favorite memories into my own little family. Some of my favorite childhood traditions have long passed, preserved only in my mind. Others live on, their memories rekindled with perfect accuracy by my own children who reenact similar stories from my past. And some are just beginning—new ideas that we’ve created for our own family.

A Few of my Favorite Holiday Traditions:

Chocolate Covered Cherries: Christmas Past

How this tradition began, I’m not sure, but it lasted for as long as we shared Christmas with my grandparents. It was reserved for only the women of the family—the four wives of the four sons, but soon grew to include granddaughters when they reached the age of chocolate covered cherry initiation. We had big Christmases every year with my dad’s side of the family. We called our celebration “The Holidome” which referred simply to the hotel where it was hosted but represented far more than that—aunts and uncles gathered around the pool, little cousins running from room to room, big cousins staying up into the wee hours of the night to tell stories, and food spreads that always included ham-wrapped pickles with cream cheese. Every year at a given point in the evening, we gathered in one of the hotel conference rooms, a giant circle of chairs uniting us all. Grandkids played recital pieces on the hotel piano, the uncles sang carols in harmony and made my grandma cry, and Grandpa stood in the middle and prayed, giving thanks for the family he loved and for all we were blessed to experience that year. When teary eyes opened, the real ceremony commenced—money envelopes passed out to every grandchild, gifts exchanged, fruitcake handed out to the boys and then the chocolate covered cherries. The aunts’ names were called first, one by one, and everyone watched as each received her box of chocolate cherries and returned to her seat, smiling. And then we waited to hear if any new names were called—if Grandpa had deemed a new granddaughter ready for her rite of passage. There was no age requirement, no explanation for how you were chosen, but when your name was added to the chocolate covered cherry list, you knew you were no longer a child in Grandpa’s eyes. I remember the year my name was called. I remember smiling as I walked to receive my prize while cousins laughed and hollered “she’s a woman!” from the sidelines. And while I don’t particularly like drugstore Marciano cherries covered in milky goo and chocolate, I buy them ever year. I’m a woman, and it’s tradition.

Follow the String: Christmas Past and Christmas Present

Again, I don’t know the origin, but for every childhood Christmas I can recall, the last “big gift” we opened always began with the end of a string Santa left for us to follow. It led us in circles, in and out of bedrooms, around the kitchen table, up the staircase and ended in a room where that last special present was hiding–a new cocker spaniel one year, the Cabbage Patch Kids we thought we’d never get, another. This is a tradition I’ve insisted on repeating. Watching my girls unravel the string and following its twists and turns toward their gift, their anticipation building as they get closer–it brings back all the magic of those early innocent years.

Reindeer Runway: Christmas Present

Brett started this one a couple years ago, prompted by his obsession of never letting Christmas lights go to waste. With a few unused strands, he decided Christmas Eve that they were the perfect length to light our driveway for Santa’s sleigh. So he and Lainey carefully arranged them to create a reindeer runway, a path to guide them to our home.

The creation of the runway belongs completely to Brett and the girls–I’m not allowed to touch. So I take pictures while they straighten the lines and Brett stands back, directing Lainey: “A little more to the right. Straighten that side out. A little more space between ’em…perfect.” Secretly, I think this satisfies his never ending little boy obsession with planes and flight and airports. Either way, it makes for a great family tradition, one that hopefully lives on for years to come.

I love our holiday traditions.

Christmas Eve, Past and Present: New jammies and kids sleep in the same bed.

Christmas Present: The Annual Santa Photo (we have yet to do this year’s). And that’s totally a real beard on this thirty-year-old Santa. No really, it’s not from Party City. It’s real.

Christmas Past and Present: Fireside Movies; Sister pouting, optional

Christmas Present: Santa’s cookies devoured and a note left to the kids

What are your favorite family holiday traditions? Any unique rituals that have withstood the years or new traditions you’ve started with your own family? Hallmark and I would love to hear your response.

To see other Hallmark posts on this blog, click HERE.

Hallmark: How to Give

November 28, 2012 By Kelle

I have this great big flaw called Overthinking. I am an expert at taking simple concepts and turning them into a confusing heap of Too Much. I’ve made many mistakes in life, exhausting efforts to build elaborate bridges to get over troubled waters when really, all that was necessary was a simple raft. My wise friend Kleidy says there’s no such thing as mistakes or failure though—it’s all just learning. This concept has been a gift—a deeper acceptance of who I am and the infinite journey toward who I want to be (which, for the record, is Who I am + Time).

I’ve been over thinking a lot of things lately, the Flaw (kind of like the Evil Claw) fed by a number of circumstances that include the following confusing heap of Too Much: making sense of people’s suffering, feeling guilty for our current non-suffering, holiday sentiment, teaching my kids gratitude, teaching my kids meaningful giving, etc. I seem to jumble up these feelings this time of year because the holidays bring it out of me. Dear friends of mine suffered a horrible family tragedy over Thanksgiving, and I can’t make sense of it. Crafting and baking and swinging on my holiday high chandelier doesn’t seem right. And I thought I didn’t know how to help. Brett and I have also been talking about what we want to do this holiday to teach our kids giving back, and we discussed adopting a family, donating toys, taking the kids to pick things out for another child, etc.—all good and meaningful things that need to be done, but still…does Lainey really get it?

In defending my writer’s block in expressing this all and explaining to my dad last night what I wanted to write, I mumbled a stream of feelings that equated to ‘Ya Totally Just Lost Me. Kindly, my dad suggested, “Okay, how about you start backwards and write one sentence.” Natalie Goldberg instructs writers to stop in the middle of typing and write simply “What I really want to say is…” I like to think of this as deconstructing that needless elaborate bridge and hopping on that simple raft.

What I really want to say is…the best and most important gift you can give anyone this holiday and any time of year—a hurting friend, your children, your spouse, the needy, the suffering, your best friend, your mom, your coworkers, and the world around you—is what you have to give. Simple as that. Taking my kids to the toy store to pick out something for a needy child is a meaningful experience, but what’s more meaningful is teaching them every single day to give of themselves—to use their talents and their words and their smile and their enthusiasm and their blessings to bring good to someone else. Shine your little flashlight, girls. Shine it bright.

I ask myself so often, “Are we doing it right? Do our kids really know how good they have it? Do they understand others’ suffering? Will they genuinely want to help and give?” The other night, as we prepared to visit our hurting friends who lost someone dear to them, I listened as Lainey told me how she wanted to help. I smiled when she suggested that we bring hot cocoa for her friends and serve it with one extra cup so we could “pretend their cousin is still with them and she’ll always be there.” That night, as we all huddled together—the hurting and the hurting help—the simplicity of all of this made sense. We all at some point will play the role of both the hurting and the help. We all both receive the gift of kindness and bestow it. And perhaps I don’t need to overanalyze the concept of giving for my children. It’s a simple concept, a solid raft: If we live it, they will learn it. Share your gifts, share your heart.

This holiday, as you search for ways to help, as you hear of others’ suffering, as you find opportunities to teach your children about gratitude and giving and as you craft and bake and enjoy the things with which you’ve been blessed along the way, know that the simple and most important gift you can give is yourself. Make someone laugh, send a thoughtful text, listen to someone who needs to talk, smile in the grocery store, say thank you, make cocoa for a hurting friend, offer your talents and teach your kids to shine their little flashlights. That simple raft will travel far.

This time of year, how do you embrace the concept of giving? How do you teach it to your children? Do you have a story of something someone did for you that made a meaningful impact? Hallmark and I would love to hear your response.

To see other Hallmark posts on this blog, click HERE.

When Fears Come: Hallmark

October 25, 2012 By Kelle

A few nights ago, I lay down with Lainey and rubbed her back as she fell asleep. With our bodies sidled up against each other and her head nestled into my neck, we talked about the things we talk about at night—school, upcoming events, funny things that happened during the course of our day. Conversation slowly fizzled as she gave in to her exhaustion, and I was just about ready to slip out of bed and join Brett in the living room, convinced from Lainey’s silence and steady sighs that she was asleep. And then, in the dark, her little voice spoke up.

“Mommy, Tyler* said today that when you grow up, you die. That’s not true, right?” Her voice broke with that last question which was really more of a plea than a question—please say no; we don’t die, right?

Without much time to strategize my response, I replied as most parents answer these questions—off the cuff, from the heart, and as best as we know how. I brought my face close to hers so she could see my reassuring smile in the dark, and I swept her hair from her forehead as I kissed her.

“Baby, everybody dies at some point in life. Most people live for a long time, just like my grandpas and grandmas. Remember I told you how my grandma and both of my grandpas died after they lived a wonderful life and had babies and then had grandbabies and watched them all grow up?”

Lainey immediately started to cry. “No, Mommy,” she argued, “No, they don’t die.”

Oh, this wasn’t going to be easy. I realized at that moment that death was a new concept to her, despite the fact that we’ve flushed a number of fish—God rest ‘em—down the toilet and have casually discussed the cycle of life through stories of grandparents and the occasional children’s book with an orphan character. But this time, it was making a little bit of sense in her growing five-year-old brain, and her comprehension of this topic brought new fears.

I could tell she was distraught. Her voice wavered as she continued: “And Gabby* said that you can die even if you don’t grow up. She said you can die if you get really sick. That’s not true, right?”

Oh, sweet mother of I-don’t-know-how-to-answer-this. And so again, I took her little question, hugged it tight and did my very best to gather up a meaningful, honest yet child-appropriate response.

Serious questions deserve serious responses, but at that moment, I knew my girl needed security—some ventilation through the heavy fear blanket that was quickly smothering my little kindergartener. So I laughed—a soft, gentle laugh.

“Have you ever been sick, Lainey?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“And did you die?” I asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Lainey, Gabby is right in that sometimes that happens. But it’s not something I want you to be afraid of. People get sick all the time, but we have so many things that help us get better—doctors and medicine and hospitals and good food and rest.”

“Mommy, you forgot to do oils today,” Lainey interrupted. “Will you go get them?”

I knew what that question meant. We use essential oils to help us “not get sick,” and my poor girl had now associated that benefit with “not dying.”

I slipped out of the bedroom to get the oils, giving her a little space and thankful for the opportunity to give Brett a quick rundown of our conversation. His response was a little different. Because Brett was terrified of death growing up. He doesn’t know why, but he remembers how scared he was and even his mom reminds me that it was a very difficult concept for him as a child.

“Please don’t tell her too much,” Brett pleaded. “I don’t want her to be scared. You have no idea how much the fear of death plagued me as a child. She’s five, Kelle. She’s too young to be thinking about this. Change the subject, please. Tell her everything is going to be okay.”

His last statement sharply emphasized a desire most of us share as parents: tell them everything is going to be okay. As elusive as that promise is, that’s what we’d love for our kids, right? A fearless childhood and the assurance that everything is going to be okay.

I so understand Brett’s desire—I mean, it’s my desire too—and I love how much he cares about the little minds of our kids. The fact is though, we have no guarantee in life that everything is going to be okay, and more than assuring my child that life is going to be dandy, I want to embrace every drop of good fortune we have while equipping my children with the tools to handle their fears and hardships.

Brett and I talked for another minute, uniting our approaches before I returned to Lainey and concluded our important conversation. I thought about a few things before I continued:

A) My goal is not to take away her fear of death. Death is scary. I think we all are, in some way, afraid of that great unknown. We don’t want to die when our kids are still young, and we certainly don’t want anyone we love to die either. It is natural and completely understandable that a five-year-old would be intimidated by this new concept. I want to acknowledge her fear.

B) What does my child think death means? While I didn’t necessarily have to address the depth of death on this particular evening, I realized that we would need to talk more about what death means in the coming months. This definition means different things to different families—to many, incorporating faith and afterlife. Faith is important to me and my family, and yet because of my past religious history, it is also critical for me to live faith and breathe it to my children in a way that embraces different ways of thinking; a way that encompasses questions and uncertainties, and never a definitive “this is the way it is” or “here’s a crutch for your fear.” Faith does bring a lot of comfort to the concept of death for me, though. And while I don’t know all the answers—and I won’t pretend I do to Lainey—I will share my ideas and dreams with my children and the fact that I believe that death is not an end.

C) Brett is right about Lainey being only five. I don’t believe in telling your children things that aren’t true just to alleviate their fears. However, I think there’s a fine line between being honest with your children and talking to them like adults. They’re not adults. Psychologically, there are clearly defined reasons why we don’t present adult concepts at adult levels to a five year old. Every child is different as well. We embrace our children’s personalities when we talk about big things, and knowing Lainey and how her little brain works will guide us as we approach more of these challenging topics as she grows up.

D) I know families that have had to present the hard truth of death to their children because they experienced it first-hand—mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. They too wanted to protect their children from knowing the depth of death’s meaning, but they didn’t have a choice. In some way, I want to honor their story and heartbreaking circumstances in the truth I present to my children. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I think about this fact as I begin to knit together lessons for my family in my head.

I returned to bed, massaged sweet-smelling oil into my girl’s feet, and cuddled up next to her, relieved to see she was smiling, relaxed and distracted.

“How many more days until Halloween?” she asked.

I smiled and hugged her. “Eight more days. Are you excited?”

“Yes,” she answered, smiling. “I want to go to sleep now.”

And so the two of us tangled our arms together and repositioned into comfier hollows in our pillows, our discussion a thing of the past for tonight and yet a door to the future. There will be more talks of fear and death. And while I hope that the searing truth of this concept keeps its distance for a long while in our family and with those we love, I know that years of time will eventually deepen my children’s understanding of the cycle of life. To prepare them, I will do what I do every day. I will love my kids.

I will teach them to be grateful for the wonderful things around them. I will encourage them to communicate their fears and questions with us, and I will be responsible with how I reply. I will live by example—making choices to be happy, to be compassionate to those around us, to educate myself and my family about the people of the world and their stories, and to embrace the sadness and unfortunate events in life with honesty and strength to overcome. Today we have so much to be grateful for, and there is comfort in recognizing that fact.

Fear isn’t a pleasant emotion, but it exists and it can certainly motivate us. How do you embrace your children’s fears? Do you discuss death and illness and tragedy in other places of the world with your children and if so, how to do you present that at an appropriate level? Hallmark and I would love to hear your response. Please be considerate of other families’ ways of addressing these topics. Enlightenment comes with an open mind.

To see other Hallmark posts on this blog, click HERE.

*Having entered the age of school and more complex social settings and topics, please note I’ve changed the names of Lainey’s classmates. This gets a bit more challenging as our kids grow up, and we embrace the challenges and changes that might come with blogging about our life.