Joyeux Noel - As I

Joyeux Noel - As I wrote a few weeks ago, Thanksgiving is my major holiday, personally - the time when I take stock of the year that's been, and make the little secret plans in the back of my head that'll carry me through til next year.

And Easter is the center of my faith - one of my favorite holidays for purely philosophical reasons (and thus, the holiday whose Hallmark-y aspects most irritate me).

But for all that, I love Christmas. Put me in a gingham skirt and call me pollyanna, but I think I've managed to get to age koff koff forty without succumbing to the wearyl cynical tolerance so much of adult America feels for this holiday. I still step out into the cold, brisk night on Chrismas Eve, hustle the freshly-scrubbed bratlets off to the church, and feel exactly the same sense of glorious wonder that I felt at their ages; the excitement, the sense of rebirth, the crisp air, the smell of wrapping paper and walnuts and the cheap candles at the Christmas Eve candlelight services.

I listen to the people who complain about the grind, the teeth-clenched stress of this holiday - and I sympathize (all too well!) but only to a point. Yeah, money's always a hassle this time of year (especially if the number and cost of presents you buy are an integral part of your self-image) - and yeah, if your family has a "dramatic" history, the holidays are always the end of the third act for the year.

But it's impossible for me to look at the wonder and anticipation on my kids' faces and not get caught up in it all, yet again.

Today, my kids - age 9 and 11 - both stated an eloquent case for Santa's existence. They gathered their evidence, ordered it well, and stated it forcefully - may they do so well in high school debate class - and refuted their more-cynical friends pretty convincingly, I must say. And I thought - in this day and age, when MTV and Nickelodeon and Disney try to train our children to be hip, cynical little consumer-bots, that they can still be so ingenouous - even innocent - is itself a minor miracle, a wondrous, maybe final taste of the early childhood that I'm even now missing in the pit of my gut.

And this week, at Gramma and Grampas, we get more of it - along with my sister and her kids and husband. I can hardly wait.

So - back to blogging for real on Thursday. I may blog a bit in coming days, but in case I don't, have a great holiday. -