The Feast of St. Lucy 2017

This Feast of St. Lucy was a lesson for me in getting ever smaller (smaller in prideful expectastions . . . sadly not smaller in waistband). 

• I forgot that this feast day isn't just throwing together a breakfast, but requires some preparation.
• The only reason I had access to my St. Lucy paper crown is that I still hadn't managed to put away the Advent bin from St. Nicholas' day last week, so it's been sitting out and is still sitting out.
• I forgot to save half the batch of my homemade-then-frozen gingerbread cookies from St. Nicholas day to have some for St. Lucy's Day.
• I forgot to make homemade cinnamon rolls the night before, and I forgot even to buy tubes of cinnamon rolls, so Chris had to get them for me on a late-evening grocery run.
• I forgot to read our book about St. Lucy the evening before the feast.

Even though the baby had been out with us a good two hours after his bedtime the night before, he decided to wake at 4:00 a.m. and not go back to sleep, crowing happily for the world to hear, so, for the sake of everyone else, I had to haul out of bed and take him downstairs. This set me up for increased crabbiness.

Then there were hurt feelings between the sisters, there had to be negotiation about the roles at the event, and the whole thing go so late that there wasn't even time for the girls to get dressed in white gowns with red sashes and crowns (as music lessons were that morning, so we did have a hard stop). Mama had been awake for four hours without proper breakfast at that point and my nature was not nearly as sweet as it should have been. If any thing was going to ruin St. Lucy's day, it wasn't all the mishaps but was my attitude. Let's just leave it at that.

It all worked out: scrambled eggs, sausages, cinnamon rolls out of a tube, and the first eggnog of the season. I was additionally grumpy because I had forgotten about our family tradition of making Christmas cards for our parish's homebound members on St. Lucy's day, a reflection of the holy day's tradition of visiting the elderly. With a day packed to the brim with activities, I knew I couldn't have us make the cards today . . . and while we could make them tomorrow, it wouldn't be St. Lucy's day and the effect would be diminished.

I was feeling pretty glum as a mama who just seems to be able to do fewer things and less well as the days, months, and years go by. (Or less of what I used to prioritize and more of new duties?) Then my six-year-old left me a note . . .

"Dear Mama,
How are you? I love you. Thank you for being the best mama ever. Can you say goodbye to Daddy for me?"

It's a little reality check that one can still be "the best mama ever" when things go awry, when our Pinterest-perfect plans don't pan out due to regular old life. If I could just fix my attitude, these moments--even with flub-ups--would be creating warm feelings and great memories.

I need always to remember our blessings: I need to keep in mind that my children woke up with two married parents, in a home with a roof, warm with heat, with a table of food to eat for breakfast, which right there puts them in the top percentage of blessed folks in the world. Not one of my children was diagnosed with leukemia like a little boy I was asked to pray for, diagnosed on the Feast of St. Nicholas and rushed within hours to start treatment. We're not homeless, like a mother with a seven-month-old medically fragile baby who is being helped by some friends of mine. We are not facing our first Christmas nearly alone like the friends-of-a-friend who lost their mother and many children except one in a fire a few months ago, only father and one daughter surviving.

* * * * *

After the blessing of music lessons all morning (Joseph got to start music theory too!), we joined friends to visit the local aquarium for homeschoolers' week, another blessing.

Joseph (4) was bubbling with joy after music theory with his excellent teacher.

At night, after the younger set were asleep, the olders and I tried to view the Geminids meteor shower outside, but it was too overcast with clouds. Next year, maybe!