preparations

With the addition of a new part-time job, life feels a bit more slippery these days. I can't quite get a handle on where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to be doing, and my mind quietly emits unbidden reminders of strange and unrelated responsibilities at odd times of the day: what will we do for teacher presents? Have I called that friend back? When will I be able to exercise again? What will we do about the car that is falling apart? Frances needs socks. When will I get Frances socks?

But despite the occasional buzzing in my mind and some family-wide growing pains, I have been amazed of late to notice that Christmas is happening despite it all. We are getting ready. Friends brought the children their presents early and Frances has been wearing her beautiful Christmas dress and new sparkly red shoes ever since. We've baked cookies. The kids have been making secret packages for their friends, the contents (and outer wrappings) of which may be trash to some, but hopefully will be treasure to the receivers. We just came back from practicing for the pageant. I got together with friends last week to make ornaments.

Gabriel and I brought up the holiday boxes and he went nuts digging through everything, finding bits of ribbon and boxes, the holiday storybooks, the stockings, the lights.

Life has this way of carrying us along, which I find immensely reassuring, given the sense I have every so often of ineffectively thrashing about. All will be well, and all will slow down: most immediately during the holidays, when we will all be off of school and work and can luxuriate in pajamas together. And soon, so soon, this new babe will arrive and set me straight. Teacher gifts? The preschool coop schedule? All these obligations will settle down in a heap like so many worn-out puppies, and we will return to the essentials: eat, sleep, touch, breathe.

Gabriel tried to push his way into Frances's room after she yelled at him not to come in as we got ready for bed tonight. I gave him a hard time about not respecting privacy, and he wept bitter tears, telling me that she will never, never let him in her room to play with her.

Have you told her you like to spend time playing with her in her room?

But she - sob - won't let me anyway!!!

I convinced him to ask her to talk about it. We knocked and she reluctantly admitted us. We sat down on the bed together and Gabriel humbly, heartbreakingly told his big sister that he liked to be with her in her room, and could he sometimes? Frances wrapped her skinny arms around him and told him yes, yes. But knock first, okay? Then they climbed into bed to read together and told me to go downstairs please.

See what I mean? Sometimes all it takes is a gesture, a nudge, and life carries along the rest. Tiny Christmas miracles, everywhere I look.