A Christmas for the ages

Our Christmas celebration at home

If you're like me, perhaps you're filled with a little bit of the post-Christmas blues today. It's hard not to be. I so love listening to songs of the season, watching favorite holiday movies, the wonder and awe that sometimes overtake me as I watch the twinkling Christmas lights. And I know all too well that three more months of winter await us (three months if we're lucky).

I'm lucky this year because while another Christmas is on the books, our dear family friend's visit continues through the end of next week. Carlos was our beloved exchange student from Spain. He stayed with us for the first time more than 21 years ago, and the connection with our family was instant. He came back to see us subsequent summers, but it had been 17 years since I'd seen him.

Carlos's return has been the best gift I could imagine. I'm delighted to report that he hasn't changed a bit. His deadpan humor remains intact. He amazes me with his memories of every major and minor detail of his past visits. He and I and my parents and brothers have shared laughter and joy reliving those halcyon summer days of long ago.

Me and Carlos, 17 years later

My dear friend's voice sounds miraculously, joyously just as it always did. Hearing it again and seeing his familiar face fills me with happiness. Carlos displays the uncanny ability to connect with my boys and nephews just as he did with my brothers when they were young.

It has been a special Christmas indeed. When we all gathered for my family's celebration on the day after Christmas, it was every bit as raucous as you'd expect for a gathering of 11 adults, seven kids and two dogs.

At the center of all the festivities is my mom. The end of the light-hearted movie Arthur Christmas always manages to make me cry, because it reminds me so much of my mom. Arthur has been named the successor to Santa because he has always worked to make everyone happy. My mom could be Santa. She works so unbelievably hard to make Christmas a special time for everyone. I think everyone in my family would agree that Mom overextends herself, but it's all for the love of her family, and protest though we may, we know she wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks, Mom.

Our celebration was a day of kids' joy and anticipation, a day of kids whining and bickering, a day of dogs barking and stealing food off people's plates (Tim and Emily - I love your dogs - it was all part of the glorious mix). I'll admit that at certain moments, I began to feel the stress and strain.

The chaos reached its apex at dinner time. Mostly thanks to seven hungry boys, the dining room was cacophonous as everyone waited for my mom and me to serve dinner. The meal was rushed, the kids had many requests and demands. These affairs never turn out as you envision - unhurried, peaceful, contemplative.

After the long-anticipated and quickly passing day was finished, I realized that in all its imperfection, I would not change a thing. These are the days we'll look back on as my kids' halcyon days - a time of togetherness, forging bonds with cousins, presents, food, fun.

I'll remember my boys, 11, 8 and 5, all still young enough to revel in the magic of Christmas. This is what I'll see in my mind's eye: Ben is so excited but trying to act the mature oldest cousin; Paul cites his stuffed animals as his favorite Christmas gifts; Gus is bursting with anticipation and trying so hard to wait to open the gifts. Someday when Christmases are much quieter, I know I'll look back on the Christmas of 2013 with longing. These are the days.

I am his quiet place, he is my wild

I was thinking, Gus and I would make a great pair of characters for a movie. We're the odd couple. She: straight-laced and uptight, quiet and mild. He: exuberant and loose, loud and wild. Watch as hijinks ensue!

This idea occurred to me as I sat fussing and fretting about how my youngest might do at his Christmas performance this afternoon. I couldn't help but flash back to last year's concert, which was a mixed bag to be sure. All of my worry was for naught, though. Gus helped put on a great show, spreading Christmas cheer and singing loud for all to hear, yet restraining himself from going over the top.

From very early on, Gus began dragging me out of my comfort zone. The summer when Gus was almost 2, we would go watch (or should I say "watch") Paul's park & rec t-ball games. It was as if he was saying to me, "You want to sit and peacefully take in my brother playing his game? Ha! Fat chance, lady." I spent the entirety of every game chasing my little hellion.

As he's gotten older, things haven't changed. I'm a quiet person. I like to sit back and observe my surroundings, and Gus likes to make a splash. When I go someplace with Gus, we are not blending.

At school drop-off, we don't get to stand there quietly, dutifully waiting for the doors to open. Gus is stomping in the snow, jockeying for position at the front of the line, trying to engage the other kids in play. Similarly, after school while waiting for Paul, Gus is spinning around, urging kids from his class into a snowball fight. I stuff my hands in my pockets, exchanged bemused or apologetic looks with other parents.

Of course, in some ways Gus challenges me in good ways and in some ways, well, it's just difficult. G naturally nudges me to be more social because he's so social. My parents and I took him to McDonald's for ice cream after his show yesterday. He immediately befriended the other boy in the play land. His grandmother and my parents and I exchanged laughs and smiles taking in their natural rapport.

When Gus's teacher reports to me about days he's struggled at school, it forces me into a place I hadn't envisioned for myself. These conversations are never pleasant (though the last two weeks have been going really well!). With exposure comes acceptance, though. I'm gradually learning that every setback is not a crisis. And I'd better learn to start handling them with grace and perspective or I'll be a basket case by 12th grade. I'm getting there.

Sometimes I question whether I can accurately judge Gus's character. I'm so far the opposite of him, so guarded with my emotions that I think I often see some of his actions and antics as a bigger deal than they are. Whereas lots of people around me seem to genuinely enjoy my son, sometimes I'm too busy watching him with my eyes half-covered, worrying what he might do next.

Gus's and my movie would end with the realization that we both have something to offer each other. I come to learn the value in loosening up and enjoying life more. Gus learns the benefits of once in a while settling down and enjoying quiet and reflection. Between you and me, I wouldn't want Gus to go too far in my direction. I think he's got the better way. I reflect too damn much if you ask me, and I'm far too sensitive.

You Are my I Love You by Maryann Cusimano Love and Satomi Ichikawa is my favorite children's book. It so perfectly captures the essence of a relationship between parent and child. I defy you to get through it without a shedding a tear or all-out sobbing. It's beginning line captures me and Gus exactly: "I am your parent; you are my child. I am your quiet place; you are my wild."

Being Gus's mom is better, and sometimes more challenging, than I ever could have imagined. He's opened me to new worlds and charted new courses for me, and he will always be my "I love you."

It's his birthday, but he's my gift

It's occurred to me that when I write, it's often about Ben or Gus. Ben is my oldest, and I'm continually experiencing issues with him for the first time. And Gus? Well, that's easy - he tends to challenge me, and consequently I spend a lot of time worrying and thinking about him.

"Paul is the quintessential middle kid, isn't he?" my sister-in-law, Emily, observed recently. We were at my nephew's birthday party at the pizza place/arcade, and Paul was trying to guide Gus about the correct party etiquette. "Eat your pizza first, and then we can play some games." Emily was right, Paul is the perfect middle child.

Yesterday, I went to school to watch Paul conduct a science experiment for his class. I hadn't realized he was supposed to bring his own materials, so he couldn't do the experiment that day. Instead, Gus and I stayed for the last part of Paul's day. I watched with joy as Paul encouraged Gus to come sit on the floor with him. He sat there with his arm around his brother the whole time.

It can't be easy to be Paul. He's stuck between Ben, an academic standout and an always-voracious athletic competitor, and Gus, who by his very nature often takes the spotlight through either positive or negative behaviors.

By contrast, Paul is quieter and more contemplative. My middle boy isn't much for sports. He'd rather create with his box of markers and paper or maybe engage in some kind of imaginative play with his younger brother.

When he was younger, Paul was the boy who cried - sobbed - when I left him anywhere. These days, he's become more outgoing, but at the same time, he still likes to stick close to Mom. To my delight, Paul has amassed a group of buddies, and he's a good and loyal friend.

All of this isn't to say that Paul is an angel. Boy, can he make himself heard when he's angry. That comes with being a middle too, I suppose.

On this, the eve of his 8th birthday, I've been reflecting on all that is special about my sweet boy. Paul loves animals. Sea turtles were his first object of affection, but there have been many others since then.

This summer, we had a house finch nesting in our hanging basket. One day, I went to water it while the boys were playing outside. I was unaware that the baby birds were sitting in their nest, and they did not enjoy being sprayed with the cold water. The babies flew down and landed in our lawn (don't worry - all were fine). Paul watched the whole scene with wonder and amazement - and promptly fell in love with birds. I think we checked out every bird book in the library.

Paul has been the impetus behind some of our best adventures of the past year. Whereas I might have just spent yet another day at home, my boy urged us to go to the nature center. We had the best time taking a walk and spotting animals, including a teeny-tiny frog.

This fall, Paul's love of birds led us to a special raptors event at the Audubon center in Milwaukee. I'll never forget the look on Paul's face as he got a close-up look at owls, hawks and eagles.

One of my favorite aspects of motherhood is all that my kids have taught me. Through Paul, my love of nature and the world around me has grown. Because of him, I now pay attention to the red-tailed hawk that is perched on the telephone pole.

Whether Paul is asking me to devise an art project or begging me to take a walk to a nearby field to see if we can spot a sandhill crane, he makes me a better, richer person. What a gift he is.