War is Over for the Race Horse

War is over, if you want it.  This silly Christmas song jabs me every year.  One reason is, it is so catchy. I can't stop humming it.  My childhood was full of folk music the Beatles, and Peter Paul and Mary.   They sing an old folk song that Lennon (or Ono) used the melody for his Happy Xmas song.  The former was about a race horse.


I'll tell you why I think it is silly: the lyrics.  I'm supposed to be moved by their benevolence yet the poetry is so flimsy, that I am not.  It may be sacrilege to openly state that this song does not move me, even as I am nearly a pacifist.  It's just that it could be so much better.  "I'll be Home for Christmas" tells the story.  After saying that, today I'm making an exception.


"War is over if you want it".  I've always wanted war to be over, wanting it has made no difference.  War is a primitive response to conflict.  I can see how warring tribes thousands of years ago used it, but can't we evolve?  Packs of wild dogs war for territory, as well as primates.   


If we have learned anything, it is that war causes global suffering.  As our troops leave Iraq, even that will cause suffering.  Leaving a fruitless war you start, causes suffering, staying causes suffering.  It is a dead end.


Today it is nearing Xmas (or for some of you, Christmas) and once again I can't get that 'Old Stewball' melody out of my head.  Today a war IS over.  Today those children singing "war is over" as a descant to Happy Xmas has taken form.  Just like those angels who came to the shepherds, saying "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."  A sliver of heaven on Earth.


I hope you have fun

I shall proceed from the simple to the complex. But in war more than in any other subject we must begin by looking at the nature of the whole; for here more than elsewhere the part and the whole must always be thought of together.

Karl Von Clausewitz

Thanksgiving is the New Christmas

Everyone is supposed to love Christmas.  I do.

Now I am going to explane why I don't like it as much as I'm supposed to.  I'm admitting it, even though it is close to taboo to admit that Christmas is a bit much for me.  It is my feeling that Thanksgiving is everything that Christmas could be.  Let me explane.

You know all the reasons there is to love Christmas.  The weeks of parties, music, cookies and sweets, gifts, more parties, children, travel, decorations and family.

Every year my children have class parties, my husband has work parties, my church has youth parties, there are family birthdays as well as our anniversary.  This year we have added a Jr. High Bollywood dance recital (really?), our daughter's choir performances, our choir performances, and hand bell performances.  All of these activities are tromping on top of buying gifts and celebrating Advent (counting down the days 'till Christmas).  We also have to be moved out of our house on the 1st of December, but that is just this year.  Most of these festive activities are not unique to this year (Bollywood Jr. High dance recital?).

Last year I watch the Charlie Brown Christmas and cried tears of "good greif".  There is too much to do at Christmas.  I am missing the point of Christmas and there is no way around it.  I have to participate in the menagerie of festivities. On their own, each activity is manageable, but in quick succession, it is a flood of fun.  A serving of ice cream is yummy, but not so much if you have to eat a gallon right now.

I used to think it was that I was putting some imagined expectation on Christmas, because it was magical when I was a kid, thanks to my parents.  I want to love it, like I used to.  Now I don't have the expectations I used to, but a calendar and a schedule to keep.

If I could have what I want for Christmas, it would be that Thanksgiving is the new Christmas.  There aren't piles of music to learn, months of preparation and pre-Thanksgiving parties.

All I have to do is deliver juice boxes to my children's classroom the day before school is out, and a potluck item for the actual day of Thanksgiving.  Then, I get to enjoy the people around me and remember how thankful I am, all weekend.  It is just as spiritual and sacred as Christmas.  I am so thankful for that.  

Bad Mom

During most of December my family has had the flu.  I have not had the flu, and I could say that it was my superior immune system, but I got a flu shot, and it worked.  The flu takes ages to recover from, it is hard to breathe, you can't sleep, you have low energy, and food tastes funny.  I wondered why the very cute packages of chocolate from the advent calendar were piling up on the counter in the kitchen.  I finally put them in a dish, one for each child.  They weren't too sick to open the little doors, but they weren't in the mood to eat the candy!  Could a kid ever be too sick for one piece of chocolate a day?  Could two children be that sick at the same time?
As the mother of these people who are not eating their sweets, what am I supposed to do?  I was thinking I would tell them that they had to eat them, as if they were lima beans.  As soon as they are done with the Halloween candy, I'll make them eat the Christmas candy, in time for Easter.

Smoochin' Santa

Christmas provides people who love music, hours of festive listening and music making.  It also provides us agonizing listening experiences in long grocery lines.  For every inspiring, sensational Christmas song that echos through concert halls across the world this season, there are also those unfortunate tunes that litter the easy-listening radio tracks.


It is one of the latter tunes that was confusing to me as a young person, and by young, I mean until I was 33, which was last year.  


There is something virtuous and enchanting about Christmas (besides the commercialism, and pregnant-virgin-teen), so I was righteously upset by "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". Did someone in the 1950's think that it was okay to spin the story of Santa: twinkly eyed, bowl full of jelly, tarnished with soot?  


How could it be that Santa would be cheating on Mrs. Claus with the singer's mother?  The thought frightened and shocked me!  Would Santa really come to a kid's house, with toys and Christmas cheer, while the reindeer waited on the roof-top, prancing and pawning their hoofs, and kiss someone else's wife?  Besides the song just being bad, to me, it was unethical, and messes up Christmas.


I've come to my senses, the song is still terrible, but in a moment of clarity last year, I figured out why this song is even allowed to be a Christmas song.   Mommy is kissing Santa, because Santa is really the dad, dressed up as Santa!  AH-HA!!!  I have been known for thinking outside the box, but I missed the point of this song for three decades.


There is still so many things wrong with it, the main one being, that if you are a smart kid, or smarter than me, you could tell there is no such thing as Santa just from this song, but I've come to realize that it is not unethical.  I still think it should be banned for the sake of believing, smart, children everywhere.

Sponge Bob Boy Pants

I took my 10 year old son to a Christmas party at a hotel in town.  I took him instead of my husband because we had nightly choir performances for a week, and I hadn't seen my kids all week.  Before dinner we visited the toy store and the book store, and I just enjoyed watching the boy who is leaving childhood faster than he knows, look at wind up toys, science kits, plushies,  bouncy-balls, and books.

He stood in the buffet line and talked to all the grown-ups, answering their questions without fear at the party.  He ate two heaping platefuls of lasagna, and washed it town with a cup of tea (or two).  He engaged all the folks at our table with fun commentary on the books he is reading, and the projects he is working on.

As we left, in the hotel bar, was a Celtic band.  He stopped and one man gave him a drum lesson, and let him sit in on two songs.  Their table was strewn with bar food and empty beer glasses, and they slapped him on the back and told him 'good job'.  He even got a penny whistle in exchange for a tune next time!  Overall it was a dream date to go on with my son.

I left the hotel with a smile, thinking of the time, knowing it was meaningful for both of us.  I was also smiling with a laugh in my belly remembering the quiet thing he told me while we were eating, in between his very grown-up conversations.  He leaned in, and told me quietly (which is a feat for any boy of ten: quiet):

Mom, there was this Spongebob where Patrick the starfish ate his pants, then he burped up the pocket and wiped his mouth with it, then ate the pocket.

Santa Baby

Driving to see grandma before Christmas we were listening to Christmas songs on the radio. The obligatory secular songs were looping, you know, the one about a hippo (of course there is a Christmas song about a hippo), and "Santa Baby".
Just to jolt your lyrical memory:

Santa baby, a '54 convertible too, light blue,
I'll wait up for you dear
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Think of all the fun I've missed,
Think of all the fellows that I haven't kissed
Next year I could be just as good
If you check off my Christmas list

As "Santa Baby" was playing, Justus, 8, started to tell a lengthy story. We could tell it is going to be a long one when he takes a looooooong breath before he starts. Scout, 5, was frustrated as she was trying to listen to the song, and hearing her brother tell a story.

Scout kindly looks at Justus and says, "Justus, could you please be quiet? I'm trying to hear about when Santa was a baby."