Category Archives: Family

Yes, There is a Santa Claus: Enabling My Son’s Belief Even When I’m Over It

I expected this to happen sooner or later.  After all, Diego is 9 years old and how much longer could I really expect him to buy into the Santa Claus thing? He really wants to be a believer in all the holiday fantasies.  He enjoys the magic of all of it. He even had me enabling his beliefs when I ran out on St. Patrick’s Day and bought him green gifts so he would think the leprechauns really did visit.

This year it’s not even Thanksgiving and he’s already asking about Christmas, and Santa. Honestly, I was just hoping that his belief would just fade away and this year he would admit to me that he didn’t believe in Santa anymore. Last year Juan and I drove over an hour to Filmore so that we could have what I thought would be our last “Santa Experience” and Diego could ride a Polar Express train. I figured 8 years old was really the end of the Santa fantasy.  I thought that by now he would stop believing and I wouldn’t have to do the whole leaving cookies and milk thing or sneak around and pretend Santa paid us a visit. My three teenagers stopped believing long ago, and frankly I am kind of over it.  I certainly didn’t expect Diego to ask about Santa this year, much less today. I was caught completely off guard.

On the way to school this morning Diego started asking a lot of Santa questions. He asked, “Why don’t parents get anything from Santa on Christmas? What would I want Santa to bring me?” I was not prepared to have this discussion before I had my first full cup of coffee. I just couldn’t be that creative that early in the morning. I quickly detoured that conversation by saying I had to concentrate on driving in traffic.

On the way home from work this afternoon, in the pre-holiday rush hour traffic we had a lot of time to kill.  We started talking about Thanksgiving which led to a discussion of how many days until Christmas, which of course led into another conversation about Santa.  It was dark and I couldn’t see his expression as he sat in the back seat, but he sounded sincere.

Diego: Do you believe in Santa? Be honest.

Me: Do you believe?

Diego: Yes, I believe.

Me: (Thinking) He’s still a believer?! How could I crush his belief? Even if he really just wants to believe in the magic, but doesn’t truly buy into the whole Santa thing, how could I tell him the truth? I don’t want to lie. But I don’t have the heart to ruin his fantasy. Especially now, when I am driving in traffic, and when I can’t see how he’ll handle the truth. And I’m tired. Can’t he just stop believing without me having to be the bad guy and ruin it for him? 

So, I kind of lied.

Me:   Yes,  there was a man named St. Nicolas. He would give presents to kids.

Diego:  (Not missing a beat). You mean used to be? What about now?

Me:  (Using my lawyer tactics) Well, what do you think?

Diego: I think he’s real. My friend Nelly told me she saw him once with his elf. I think his toy bag is magic and refills itself with the toys for the kids. How else could he have toys for all the kids?

Me: Yeah. (Seriously? This kid has quite an imagination. Either that or he is really playing me.)

Me:  Well, it sounds like you have it all figured out.  Oh look, a traffic accident!

Crisis averted. For now. Damn.

Christmas 2012. I thought it was the last year for Santa. I guess not.

Christmas 2012. I thought it was the last year for Santa. I guess not.

 

Siri-ously Call Me Your Grace

Re-reading my last couple of blog posts, I think I need to lighten things up around here. I’m not all serious and gloom, even though I sometimes sound like it.  One of the great joys in my life is laughing at my husband Juan’s corny jokes and terrible puns.  His unique sense of humor is often evident in the titles to my blog posts. If my post has a corny title or a play on words, you can bet he suggested it, e.g. the titles to the last three posts.

Juan is also my tech guy.  If I ever have a question about anything tech related, I ask him. In fact, nearly everyone in my family calls him when they have a tech question especially if it has anything to do with Apple.  Yesterday he sent me a link about an article discussing how to make Siri, the Apple voice assistant, simplify my life. I looked at the article and just learning how to operate Siri was too complicated for me. Forget about it simplifying my life.

I am learning to use Siri little by little and thanks to Juan and his tech savvy, Siri is programmed to call me “Your Grace.” I didn’t program her this way but after watching several episodes of Game of Thrones, Juan thought it would be funny if she called me by a royal title.

Juan taught Nico how to program his Siri and now she calls our 15 year-old son,  “Supreme Overlord.”

Diego and his friend are in on the fun too. One of his 3rd grade buddies recently programed his mom’s iPhone to call her “Poop head.” (He changed it back before he got in trouble.)

Last month Juan spent the afternoon helping my dad buy and set up his iPhone. Juan programed Siri on my Dad’s iPhone and wanted to have her call him by the family nickname, “Chuy.” I vetoed that idea. Then he wanted to program her to call him by his given name,  “Jesus,” but in English. I vetoed that idea too. I think he finally programed her to call him “Jess.”

Juan used to have his Siri call him “Lord and Master.”  I guess he figured that would be the only time he’d ever have that title. Now, Juan has taught Siri to call him by his given name,  perfectly pronounced, with a throaty spanish “J” sound, kind of like Hwan. 

One of the ways I like to use Siri is to dial my cell phone when I can’t dial myself.  I will tell Siri, “Call Juan.” Siri will then respond, “Calling One.”

I think still have a lot to learn about using Siri.  I guess I also need to learn how to pronounce my husband’s name correctly.

Sunday Offerings: The Key to Re-Encountering My Faith

My Sundays typically involve church.  Growing up Roman Catholic, church was a big part of my life. I felt God in the liturgy of the mass, the rituals of incense, candles, and music. As an adult I have found that going to church regularly refreshes my soul and keeps me connected to God, my community and my family. For the past several months, I have not been feeling quite the same about church. I have been struggling with feeling my connection to the Divine.  I know a lot of my struggle with my faith is due to the challenges I have been dealing with in my family life. The liturgy of the mass offers little comfort. I don’t know if it’s a chicken or egg thing. Perhaps because I have been struggling in my family life, my church attendance has been spotty, or perhaps because my church attendance has spotty, I have been struggling in my family life.

My Buddhist friend, who knows my struggle, and feels my despair, invited me a lay Buddhist meeting.  She talks to me enthusiastically about how her life and her children’s lives have turned around since they started chanting. We went to lunch one day and I met with one of her Buddhist leaders.  It was an inspiring and insightful conversation. I have no doubt that the Buddhist faith is working in their lives. I accepted the invitation to the Buddhist meeting.  At first I was a bit self-conscious about chanting words I wasn’t even sure I was pronouncing correctly.  But, as the sound washed over me in community with the other women in the room I felt peace.  It was a very positive experience that was both familiar and strange.  It was strange in the sense, that the language was foreign and I struggled to find meaning in the words we chanted.  It was familiar in the sense that the ritual of the prayer beads, the gong and chanting seemed a lot like the rituals I had grown up with and which gave me comfort.

This morning Juan and Diego had to go to soccer practice.  The other kids were sleeping in. I didn’t want to go to church by myself, so I decided I would take Molly on a walk to the big outdoor church. Nature. It’s the other place I feel God. I don’t get outdoors nearly enough, but today the air was crisp, the sun was bright and I needed to move my body.  I announced to my kids that we weren’t going to church this morning.  I think they were a bit relieved they would have a leisurely Sunday morning.

I  drove to nearby Eaton Canyon, took my car key off the ring and stuck it in my iPhone case.  As Molly and I hiked the canyon I listened to a talk given by Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Lutheran preacher who had visited my church a couple of weeks ago.  At one point during the talk she explained how she had grown up in the fundamentalist Church of Christ, and then decided to become a Lutheran when she experienced and fell in love with the liturgy.  She said liturgy feels like “choreographed sacredness” and that it was like a “stream that flowed long before us and will continue long after us so that we… can be immersed in the language of truth and promise and Grace.” Her words rang so true for me.

I listened and worshipped the nature around me, trying to feel the presence of God.  It was challenging because Molly kept pulling on her leash and the canyon was filled with hikers, joggers, and a lot of dogs.  By the time we had hiked over a mile, we were  she was tired and we turned around to make our way back to the car.  I took my phone out from its case and took this picture of me communing with nature.  I definitely look more sweaty than full of Grace.

Hiking the trail in the great outdoor church.

Hiking the trail in the great outdoor church.

About halfway back to the car it occurred to me that the key I had placed in my iPhone case was no longer there. You know the key?  The one with the computer chip in it that costs hundreds of dollars to replace? I panicked. Whatever sense of peace and Grace I felt during my hike evaporated.  Molly and I sprinted back to the spot where I took the picture.  Along the way, I kept dodging hikers, dogs and the occasional horse and dog poop, all the while looking, hoping, praying to find the key.

I have lost a lot of things before. I have found them too, in odd, unexpected places. My mom is the same way. She has taught me to pray to St. Anthony whenever I lose things.  Along the trail I prayed to St. Anthony again.  I laughed at myself at the absurdity of me losing the key and the even greater absurdity of finding it along the well-traveled trail covered with leaves, dirt and rocks.

I arrived at the spot where I had taken the picture. I looked among the shrubs, under leaves and turned over rocks. It wasn’t there. I made the walk back to the car my eyes downcast, searching for the key, missing the beauty of nature and ignoring the presence of God around me. I thought of the irony in losing the key in my quest to find God.  By the time I reached my car, I still hadn’t found the key and felt resigned that it was probably gone.  I called Juan and told him the bad news, and ask that he bring me the one spare key we had left.

Juan and Nico arrived, prepared to do one more sweep through the canyon. I refused to go, saying it was a lost cause.  Before we left, I decided I’d go into the ranger station to see if the key had been turned in. The ranger told me that no one had turned in any keys and asked me for my name and the key description.  Just then another ranger walked into the office. The second ranger asked, “You lost a key?” Then she pulled out my key from her shirt pocket. She said someone along the trail had just turned it in.

I took the key and in a moment of evangelizing told the ranger about St. Anthony. She said I should go buy a lottery ticket.  I replied that I was going to light a candle instead. Nico drove home with me and along the way we laughed and talked about the miracle.  In my best Southern evangelical preacher voice I shouted, “Allelulia!”  I asked him “Can I have an Amen?”  Getting into the spirit of it, Nico shouted “Amen!”  I enthused, “See? You just need to have faith.”  Nico asked,  “Well, what’s the lesson here?”  I paused and thought about it.  Then, I replied, I guess the lesson is that I just need to have faith that what has been lost will be found.

Firsts

It’s Monday, the 18th day of NaNloPoMo, and I am feeling a bit uninspired.  I looked at today’s writing prompt to get me going.  The prompt is to blog about a post you didn’t publish. I have a couple of those, but not many. Actually, I have many more unwritten posts that I probably won’t be able to publish, for the same reasons I haven’t written them.  The subject is too raw, and the stories are personal not just to me, but to others in my family.

I looked through my blog posts marked “private” and I found this one. When I wrote it my heart ached for my step-daughter.  I felt so helpless, like most parents feel when they see their child sick or sad. At the time, I wrote the post for myself and yet I knew that I would not be able to hit “publish” because like my other unwritten, unpublished blog posts, the subject matter was still too fresh.

Now, after reading this post, I feel enough time has passed that I can finally hit “publish.”

 

As parents, we’ve experienced many “firsts.” We had a first in our house last night. Our first daughter, with her first love, experienced her first broken heart. As parents, it was one of those times watching your child hurt and realizing you can do little about it, except offer some comforting words and the comforting food of a cheeseburger, fries and chocolate shake.We’ve all been there.  But, somehow seeing your child go through it makes it so much more painful. As we talked about her heartbreak, I found myself amazed at her level of maturity, insight and sensitivity.  The tears rolled down her face and she sobbed, feeling bad for being the one to break the news and knowing that in doing so, she may have broken a heart and ended a friendship.I have been on both ends of the spectrum, and in my opinion it is worse to be the one hearing the message, than the one delivering the message.  Maybe that’s because when I was the messenger I wasn’t as attached to the person, or maybe I just wasn’t as sensitive as our 14 year old daughter. I was also amazed, stunned actually, that we were talking about it. She doesn’t share her feelings easily, so perhaps it’s a testament to the amount of pain she felt that she was able to share it with her dad and I. Or maybe she just has a more open relationship about these things than I ever did with my parents. It could also be when I was a teen, I under-estimated my parents and didn’t think they would understand.

As much as it hurt to see her suffer, I also felt gratitude. I felt grateful that we have such an insightful, loving daughter.  Grateful that I felt close to her in sharing such heartache. Grateful that she confided in me, her mom and her dad. Most of all I felt grateful in knowing that this too shall pass and as beautiful and wonderful as she is, she will experience love again. This is one thing I know to be true. I am grateful to her for reminding me of that too.

 

Doing Laundry with The Walking Dead

My Sunday nights used to be all about folding laundry while watching The Amazing Race. I fantasized about racing around the globe and winning a million dollars, as I paired socks and folded underwear.  I was so caught up in my fantasy that I missed out on a lot of good TV and found myself bingeing on Breaking Bad to stay current and feel a part of things when Juan and I were invited to attend a finale party.  My fantasy racing around the world made me late to the party at Downton Abbey and almost caused me to miss out on another popular TV series, The Walking Dead.

I never thought I would enjoy a show about a zombie apocalypse, and I scoffed at the idea of such lowbrow TV. How could a fan of Downton Abbey find anything remotely interesting about a television series about survivors of a zombie apocalypse? The series is set in the southern USA after a zombie epidemic wipes out most of the population, leaving only the undead and those fit enough to outsmart and outlast the brain eating walkers. Even though The Walking Dead’s premise did not appeal to me initially, I heard so much buzz about the show I decided to give it a try.

Before we left on our trip to Italy Juan loaded up his IPad with movies and the first season of The Walking Dead.  Since I can sleep almost anywhere, I caught up on much needed rest on our flight to Rome. Occasionally I would wake up and glance over at Juan with his eyes wide open, fixated on his iPad.  By the time we landed in Rome I was feeling only a little tired but Juan was both fatigued and pumped up on adrenaline from watching the first few episodes of The Walking Dead.

On our first day in Rome we toured the Eternal City and at night when jet lag kept me awake, I watched The Walking Dead.  Exhausted from the flight, Juan was finally able to sleep while I caught up with him on the AMC series. From then on, we watched episode after episode while we waited for trains, at night in our hotel room and on the long flight home.  When we returned from our trip we were hooked on the series and quickly watched the entire 3 seasons on iTunes or Netflix.  By the time the fourth season premiered last month, Juan and I were among the many fans waiting to see how Rick and his Zombie apocalypse survivors were faring.  We have not been disappointed.

The fourth season has had a lot of plot development.  As is typical for the show, the creators have not been afraid to write off characters who have had major roles throughout the show.  That’s all I’m going to say about that.  I don’t want to be a spoiler for this who haven’t hooked into the show yet.

Juan and I have to careful talking about the show and spoiling it for our 15 year-old son Nico.  Even though Nico has never been a fan of horror or scary films, he was intrigued by the premise of The Walking Dead.  I told him the show was more about survival and the dynamics of a group trying to make it through an apocalypse. A fan of The Hunger Games,  Nico enjoys reading and watching science fiction stories, and playing strategy games. Nico decided to give the series a try and after the first episode was hooked. Now, in addition to his talk about superpowers, he has begun discussing how he would survive a Zombie apocalypse.  This week I was doing some shopping and I found this:

An appropriate Christmas gift for a teenage fan of board games and zombies?

An appropriate Christmas gift for a teenage fan of board games and zombies?

Needless to say, I bought it as a Christmas gift. Am I creating a monster?  I hope not. Once Nico catches up watching previous seasons, maybe he and I will be able to watch the series together.  Right now, for me, watching The Walking Dead on Sunday nights sure makes folding laundry a lot more exciting.

 

Do you watch The Walking Dead?

 

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