Christmas-O's

Christmas Eve 2012.  My seventh adult Christmas - one without a month off school, one spent away from my family of origin, one marked more with logistics than joy.  And it wasn't starting off pretty.  My husband, Theo, and I were both tired and stressed about a day full of travel.  He made some smart comment about the excessive amount of ice that I was dumping in the blender for smoothies, so I glared at the back of his head, poured in some more, and considered spending Christmas by myself in a hotel.  Knowing that wasn't a realistic option - I left him with our toddler, took my watered down smoothie upstairs, and turned on the shower where I hoped I could escape for 10 or, preferably, 30 minutes. Let me emphasize again: we were both very tired.

Once in the shower, enveloped in steam and doomsday thinking, it hit me: this was my seventh married Christmas. Isn't seven the unlucky number in marriage? We had one baby who was wearing us out and another due in two months: maybe this Christmas drain was just a sign of joyless, logistic filled life to come. And so I prayed. I prayed that God would protect us - or at least this day - from the one who came to steal, kill, and destroy. I prayed that God would bless us with mercies throughout the day, and that he would even grant us joy in the travels that awaited. I prayed that he would help us be nicer to one another and not use exhaustion as an excuse for rudeness. I prayed for patience. And I prayed again for joy.

I wish I could say I prayed all this confidently, but the truth is - my assurance that God would answer my prayer was not high. I knew the reality that awaited: the packing of the car, the dropping off of the dog, the 1.5 hour drive down to the airport, the security lines and the joy of navigating the airport with a stroller, the stress of having a peanut allergic toddler on an airplane, the wait for my in laws at the airport, the prospect of Christmas Eve without the traditions of my youth and Christmas morning so far away from my parents. The idea that joy or any element of the Christmas spirit might exist somewhere in between those activities seemed ridiculous.

Oh how wrong I was!

This is how the day unfolded: After a shower that lasted 35 minutes, I came downstairs to find that my husband had cleaned the blender and gotten our child dressed. He-who-had-graciously-showered-the-night- before then whipped out the door to take our dog to the sitter and run a couple of errands that I was sure would take an hour or more. Thirty-five minutes later, he was back, the car was packed, and we both looked at the clock in awe. For the first time in our entire married life, we were ready to go EARLY --- by over an hour. We looked from the clock to each other with raised eyebrows and decided we should just go before anything happened to spoil our success.

 In the car, our son - who almost never sleeps on the road - closed his eyes for an early nap. I quickly followed suit, expecting this nap to last only 20 minutes or so. An hour plus later, he was still asleep and we were rolling into Atlanta. With plenty of time until our flight, we decided to stop to eat. The diner that we originally chose was closed so we pulled into a chain restaurant that was decidedly more upscale than we expected.  By the time we realized the atmosphere, we had already placed drink orders and so - with worried glances at our toddler in this child-menu-less establishment - we decided to stay.

We shouldn't have worried. Our son charmed the wait staff and the patrons by saying hi and hey and bye and thank you to every person that passed his way. He ate his fries (which he called chi-i-i-i-ps) with gusto and shared his fancy chicken fingers with us. We ate a sandwich and salad that were actually good enough to justify the price and reminded us of pre-child meals, and we joked about making a fancy restaurant a Christmas Eve tradition. Our waiter delivered our check and we were back in the car - amazingly - 6 minutes ahead of schedule.

When we got to the airport, a shuttle was waiting to take us to the terminal. In security, there was absolutely no wait. Our gate was the one closest to the escalator, so we didn't even have to traipse down the long corridor to catch our flight (a huge bonus for a pregnant lady!). We were still an hour ahead of schedule, so we set up camp outside the gate. My husband - angel once more - firmly told me to sit, and stay seated, while he chased our son.

And then he spotted them: Santa and Mrs. Claus, in full regalia, on the back of one of those carts for the elderly and/or disabled, whizzing through the terminal. Theo whisked Collin into his arms and took off, catching up with them in the center of the concourse.  Five minutes later, they were back - triumphant smiles on both of their faces.  Collin had a brand new stuffed animal in his hand, one of those tacky souvenir bears with Atlanta across its stomach, and was yelling "Jeeta, Jeeta" (translation "Santa, Santa").  Theo had a picture of Collin, looking only slightly apprehensive, with Mr. & Mrs. Claus.

It was the highlight of Collin's Christmas.  Once on the plane, he had to tell all of our neighbors about his "Jeeta Bear."  As we sped off the runway, he called "Bye Jeeta.  Dank you Jeeta."  On the flight, he continued to cling to his new favorite toy and whisper "Dank you Jeeta!  Dank you Jeeta!"

After an amazingly peaceful flight where fellow passengers complimented us on our well behaved child (no kidding), we arrived in Dulles where Po-Po (Chinese for grandmother) picked us up  and took us home.  We were all tired, so the rest of the evening flew by.  We put Collin and Jeeta Bear to sleep in the big walk in closet in our room and prayed for a restful evening.

Unfortunately, the new surroundings really threw our little boy off.  He woke up first at midnight with a wet diaper.  At 2 am, we once again heard his cry and stumbled out of bed.  At 2:30 am, again for no apparent reason, he was up.

"I've got it," Theo mumbled groggily, and managed to settle him back down again.  Predictably, however, Collin's little, unborn brother - now awake as well - was demanding to be fed, so I stumbled out of bed and to the kitchen.

While I poured myself a bowl of Cheerios, I heard yet again the cries from upstairs - and it hit me.  Maybe he was hungry too!  I grabbed the box of Cheerios and headed up.  When I got there, a very tired Theo was rocking a very tired Collin in his arms.  I held out the box of Cheerios, and Collin lunged for it.  There was our answer!

We switched the lamp on and settled down together on the floor next to the bed for our "picnic."  Theo passed the box of Cheerios back and forth from me to Collin as we both took delirious handfuls and shoved them into our mouths.  I thought of the early morning Christmases of my childhood, looked at Theo, and asked, "How many Christmas mornings do you think we'll be up at 3:00 am?"

He shook his tired head and smiled, both of us realizing that we have many, many more of these in our future.

Collin was still clinging to his bear with one hand as he shoveled Cheerios in with the other, and we asked him where he got his bear.  "Jeeta," he said with a sleepy, satisfied smile.

While we waited for him to finish his midnight snack, Theo and I looked at each other across his head - and I realized that even this mid-night wake up call was an answer to my morning petition.  I prayed for joy and - though I couldn't articulate it - the sense of family that I was afraid we were losing in all the traveling and have-tos.  Here, at 3:00 am, God gave me just what I was afraid I would miss:  a private moment with all three of the boys I love best on early Christmas morning.