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Monday January 25th, 2010
“Fear grows in darkness; if you think there’s a bogeyman around, turn on the light.”
Dorothy Thompson
Recently, Pip has started asking for her light to be kept on when she goes to bed at night. She thought the things in her room looked scary in the dark. The night-light wasn’t illuminating enough, nor was the fun ladybug-light that shines coloured stars all over her room. So, we accommodate her, hoping it’s just a stage.
I find it interesting that she slept in the dark for the first three years of her life and was completely content. Could it be that, as she learns more about the world, her fears increase?
We purposely don’t have the news on in our home when the girls are awake, so our daughters know nothing about the earthquake in Haiti. The other day at Pip’s pre-school, her teacher asked for parental permission to involve the children in a discussion about the situation in Haiti so that they could each bring in a Twoonie and contribute to a school-district-wide fundraiser. I was glad to be asked, because I didn’t want Pip introduced to the idea of devastating natural disasters at this stage in her life. Some kids might listen to words like ‘homeless’ and not internalize it, but my highly-sensitive child internalizes EVERYTHING. At this stage, I don’t want to add ‘earthquakes’ to her list of fears.
So, I requested that the fund-raising discussion involve something like, ‘children who need our help,’ and leave it at that. Pip knows from our trip to donate toys in December that there are children who aren’t as fortunate as she is.
When I decided to write about this topic, I realized that I hadn’t had an in-depth discussion with Pip about sleeping with the light on. We were having a little snuggle on her bed one afternoon and I said, “Pip, can you tell me about something?” as an introduction to my ‘fears’ chat. Pip said,
“Sure Mama, I can tell you what I dreamed.”
“Okay,” I had a slightly different agenda, but I was curious.
“I had a dream that you and Daddy and Fig and I were all COW-GIRLS!!! Well, there was one COW-GIRL-BOY. That’s Dad. And we all had horses and we would ride them and ride them. But Fig isn’t really big enough to ride a horse yet, so we have to wait until Fig and I are mommies too. Like you. We’ll wait until we’re pregnant. Then we’ll be cow-girls.”
I was laughing at this point, but Pip just carried on with her dreams of pregnant cow-girls and cow-girl-boys. I suppose she’s used to me laughing a lot when she’s talking because it certainly doesn’t deter her. Eventually we got around to talking about sleeping in the dark and she said that she was afraid of the shadows. She couldn’t name exactly what she thought the shadows would do to her, or why she was afraid of them, but she was clearly uncomfortable discussing the possibility of sleeping in a darkened room.
“Let’s play camp-out Mama,” she said. Believe it or not, one of Pip’s favourite games is to close the blinds and curtains in her room, take out the ladybug lamp that lights up the ceiling with stars, snuggle under a blanket with me or Fig or Daddy-O, turn off all the lights, and pretend we’re camping outside under a starry sky. There, with the comfort of a warm body beside her, she isn’t aware of the scary shadows, she’s just in awe of the starry ceiling.
Thursday January 21st, 2010 I just wanted to let you all know about a panel of professional photographers that is presenting tomorrow morning from 10am until 12 noon at the D’Esterre House in Comox. Admission is $3.00 and all ages are welcome. (Seniors get in free!) I’m very honoured, and humbled to be one of the panelists, and will offer the perspective of someone just starting out in the photography business.
Hope to see you there!
Monday January 18th, 2010 “Kids: they dance before they know there is anything that isn’t music.”
William Stafford
My mom is a tap-dancer. She taught me to dance when I was four years old, and before my daughter’s third birthday, Mom had given her a pair of tap-shoes. Pip loves to don her shiny black shoes and dance around the house. I’ve tried to teach her a step or two, but my attempts have been unsuccessful.
“Pip, see if you can make a sound with your toe-tap, and then lift it up right away, like this,” I say, and Pip counters with:
“Mama, I like to do it like this!” She then executes an exciting array of original footwork. Watching Pip reminds me of an old colleague of mine, Joanie. She was a fabulous singer, and she went on an audition once for a role in a musical. The singing part of the audition went well, and Joanie was asked if she knew how to tap-dance. “Yes,” Joanie lied. She was asked to bring her tap shoes to the call-back later on that day. Joanie went out and purchased her first pair of tap shoes, then left the casting-director speechless when she performed her unique dance steps at the call back audition. That takes guts. Joanie didn’t get the part, but I like to think that the director admired her gumption. I certainly did.
Not many adults are willing to risk looking like fools, but kids do it all the time. There’s such freedom in innocence. When Pip watches dancers, she has no idea that their numbers have been choreographed. She doesn’t know that there are organized steps that tap-dancers learn, she just puts on her shoes and starts moving! I asked Pip once if she’d like to take tap-dancing lessons. “Why, Mama?” she asked, “I already know how to tap-dance.”
It’s the same with reading. Pip loves to read. She doesn’t actually decode the words on a page, but she combines memorized text with her own words to ‘read’ books. Pip’s 1 1/2 year old sister, Fig, is following her lead. The other day I snuck into the living-room and video-taped the two of them sitting side-by-side on the couch, reading aloud. Fig was reading ‘The Gruffalo’ and Pip was reading an Usborne collection of animal stories. Fig has only just begun to string words together, so her language was stilted: “Upon a time, The Gruffalo. Hi Snake, what’s your name? Ya. All done.” Pip’s reading, on the other hand, was very fluid and expressive: “‘Maybe it’s nice to have friends,’ thought the lion, and off he went, into the jungle.”
Similar to my impulse to teach Pip ‘proper’ dance steps, I’m chomping at the bit when it comes to reading instruction. The teacher in me thinks that Pip is progressing beautifully through important developmental stages on the road to literacy, and she shouldn’t be rushed. The book-lover in me, however, anticipates the wonderful world that will open up for Pip once she can decode words, and wants to teach her to read RIGHT NOW!!! So I compromise. I don’t push Pip, but I do track the words with my finger as I read. I often ask her to identify letters and we work on letter sounds, but she isn’t very interested. Ironically, she just wants to read! One day I thought I would simply ask, “Pip, would you like me to teach you how to read the words on a page?” She looked at me as though I had carrots growing out of my ears, and said,
“You’re silly, Mama! You know I can read!” You can’t buy that kind of confidence.
Imagine if you could. If you could bottle ‘confidence’ and sell it, you’d be a billionaire. Somewhere along the way, most of us decide that there are a host of things we can not do. How many of us have said at one point or another that we can’t sing? Dance? Paint? Draw? Why do we limit ourselves? I wonder when we stop believing that we can do anything.
The other night I read, ‘The Kissing Hand,’ to Pip. Usually she chooses the bed-time story, but that night she said, “You choose, Mama.” I hadn’t read that particular book to her in months, and she looked at it as though it was a long lost friend. “What’s this one called again, Mama?”
“The Kissing Hand,” I said, and I proceeded to read the book. I didn’t track words, I didn’t stop to review any letter sounds, I simply read a beautifully crafted story about the love between a mother raccoon and her child. After I had finished, Pip said,
“I’m going to read it to you now Mama,” and I settled in for Pip’s rendition of the book. Her retention was amazing. She remembered much more of the exact text than I ever could have recalled. Kids’ brains astonish me. On top of that, Pip delivered an original line that was startlingly poetic. She said, “I flew straight into love with you.”
How great is that? Flying into love. I like it better than falling in love. Flying into love sounds more uplifting. You can get excited about flying into love.
Lying on the bed with Pip, it suddenly occurred to me that I would miss out on moments like, “I flew straight into love with you,” if Pip knew how to read the exact words on a page. The teacher in me is absolutely right; there’s no rush. Pip adores books. She loves reading. And, in the end, that’s all that really matters.
Monday January 11th, 2010 “The moment you say ‘I know everything’ is the end of your growth.”
Sharon Lee
“Pip, you need to put some clothes on,” is a phrase I find myself uttering, not just in the morning, but several times a day. My daughter simply prefers to be naked. Oh, we insist on underpants, but that’s about all we can get her to consistently wear. It doesn’t help that we have a toasty warm fire burning in the living-room fireplace throughout the day. When we arrive home from pre-school, or some other daily outing, Pip strips down to her underwear, takes either a toy or books into the living room, and plops down on the carpet in front of the fire.
She says that clothes are ‘scratchy.’ Thus, we only buy ‘soft’ clothes for her. My sister hands-down the most wonderful jeans and chords from my niece, but Pip will not wear them. She doesn’t like tags on anything; even stuffed animals. Pip doesn’t like people close to her wearing ‘scratchy’ clothes either, and she won’t hug me when I’m wearing my favourite wool sweater.
Pip is a sensitive soul. From the time she was only a few months old, I knew that she was an observer. I remember taking her to a baby music class when she was about 10 months old and being surprised at the fact that she didn’t want to participate. She loved music! We sang and played instruments at home all the time, but during the music class, she just wanted to sit on my lap and watch what was going on around her. This behaviour continued week after week and by the end of the session she had just started to feel comfortable enough to take part, but even then, it was only the familiar activities that she enjoyed.
My husband and I have never wanted to label Pip as being ‘shy,’ but new people in her life will often say, “Are you shy?” or “Don’t be shy,” if she doesn’t engage with them right away. I don’t like it, because I feel that she is being misunderstood. She is a confident, happy little person, but she likes to observe people and situations before she acts. She’s also incredibly empathetic. If a child is upset on the playground, or if her little sister is out of sorts, Pip’s eyes will well up with tears. Empathy is a wonderful trait, but it must be exhausting for Pip to take on the emotions of other children.
Does any of this sound familiar to you? It was only recently that it all made sense to me and I came to a new understanding about my daughter and myself. Last summer, my insightful cousin Sheryl read a book about ‘Highly Sensitive People.’ She said that it made her think of me and Pip. It took me awhile to get around to it, but I finally looked at the author’s website. I read through the checklist for ‘Highly Sensitive Children,’ and Pip exhibited almost ALL of the character traits.
I had many, ‘Aha,’ moments as I sifted through the information on the website, because it turns out that I possess many of the adult ‘HSP’ traits. It was enlightening, and also incredibly comforting. Especially this bit:
- Your trait is normal. It is found in 15 to 20% of the population–too many to be a disorder, but not enough to be well understood by the majority of those around you.
- It is innate. In fact, biologists have found it to be in most or all animals, from fruit flies and fish to dogs, cats, horses, and primates. This trait reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting. The brains of highly sensitive persons (HSPs) actually work a little differently than others’.
- You are more aware than others of subtleties. This is mainly because your brain processes information and reflects on it more deeply. So even if you wear glasses, for example, you see more than others by noticing more.
- You are also more easily overwhelmed. If you notice everything, you are naturally going to be overstimulated when things are too intense, complex, chaotic, or novel for a long time.
- This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood. Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called “shy.” But shyness is learned, not innate. In fact, 30% of HSPs are extraverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion. It has also been called inhibitedness, fearfulness, or neuroticism. Some HSPs behave in these ways, but it is not innate to do so and not the basic trait.
- Sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told “don’t be so sensitive” so that they feel abnormal.
The author’s name is Elaine Aron and her homepage can be found at: www.hsperson.com/index.html
I don’t know if this information is of interest to people who aren’t highly sensitive, but this learning experience has reminded me, yet again, what incredible teachers my daughters are and how much I have to learn.
I’ve come to a deeper understanding about Pip, as well as myself, and I’ve found a great resource for both of us. I’ll be better equipped to help Pip when her eyes water because some child on the playground is crying. I’ll be more tolerant when she refuses to wear a new shirt. I’ll also be easier on myself. (Thank you, cousin Sheryl!)
In the end, I think it all comes down to acceptance. Acceptance of our kids, our spouses, our parents, ourselves…not judgement, but acceptance. Amen to that.
Monday January 4th, 2010 “The secret to humour is surprise.”
Aristotle
I like holiday traditions. I particularly relish this process of creating new traditions with my own little family based on my husband’s and my past experiences, and the dreams we share for our daughters. Some traditions are incredibly meaningful, some are magical, and some are just plain fun.
As a child, nothing could match the anticipation I felt Christmas morning as I entered the living room with my brother and sister to see what Santa had left for us. I felt the same thrill, three decades later, as I anticipated my daughters’ excitement upon meeting their gifts from Mr. Claus. This year, Pip and Fig both asked Santa for rocking horses. Pip wanted a purple horse, and she asked if Santa could get a green horse for Fig.
Christmas Eve arrived and I felt giddy as my husband and I played the part of Santa’s elves. Once the stockings were stuffed, the cookies and carrots were consumed, and the egg-nog was gone, it was time to retrieve Princess and Thunder. Now, in my home, Santa didn’t wrap his gifts. It made sense; he was far too busy, and his elves had their work cut out for them making the toys. (Perhaps he was just way ahead of his time and was too environmentally aware to waste paper on wrapping.) As a child, I found it thrilling to see Santa’s presents exposed under the tree on Christmas morning. Then again, I didn’t know any different. Nevertheless, my husband and I had no problem agreeing NOT to wrap gifts from Santa, but we worried that Pip might awaken in the night and find the horses, so we threw a blanket over top of them.
Before we went to bed, I strategically placed two cameras in the living room; Big Daddy-O was in charge of video, and I would grab the camera on the couch for still photos. I had made sure that both cameras were fully charged and ready to roll. I could just imagine the images we were going to capture during those precious first few moments of Christmas; the blanket being pulled off to reveal the horses, Pip and Fig’s faces full of joy and excitement…I could hardly wait.
The next morning, Fig woke up early and my husband was the first one upstairs to get her. She was crying and wanted to be nursed, so I thought I’d go upstairs to help quiet her down so that she didn’t awaken Pip. So there we were: my husband, Fig and I upstairs, when we heard Pip’s door open down on the main floor. As we hurried downstairs and rounded the corner into the living-room, we saw Pip proudly riding her new rocking horse. “He came, Mama! He came!” What a surprise.
Monday December 28th, 2009
| “We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.” |
Mother Teresa
When I traveled to Jejuri, India to volunteer in a small, village-school, I took as many school supplies as my back-pack could hold. Patrick, my host and the principal of the school, had told me that felt-pens would be a big hit, so I made certain that I could carry at least one package for each student. When I arrived at Patrick’s home, I met his wife, Maduri, and their two children, Sonny (8 yrs.) and Baby (3 yrs.) I pulled out a package of felt pens and gave them to Sonny. He smiled, thanked me, and set them aside.
 Baby, Sonny and their cousin Anupriya “Sonny,” his father said, “don’t you want to try your new pens?” Sonny shook his head.
“Why not?” Patrick asked.
Sonny was silent. He seemed reluctant to say anything in front of me, so I turned my attention to Baby for a moment. He whispered something in his father’s ear.
Patrick then told me that Sonny wanted to wait and share the pens with the rest of his classmates.
“Oh, Sonny, I brought a package for every student. Every one of your classmates will get their own package, so you can open yours now and use them!” I said.
Sonny shyly shook his head again and whispered something else in his father’s ear. Apparently, Sonny needed proof. He wouldn’t open his felt pens until he had seen the alleged packages for his classmates.
I led Sonny over to my purple backpack and counted out sixteen packages of felt pens, all as colourful and new as the gift I had given him. His eyes lit up, he ran over to where he had placed his felt pens, and he proceeded to spend the next few hours playing with them. He drew with them, made patterns with them on the floor, he used them as cars to drive around the house and even used them to make a magic trail for me to follow. I can’t remember all of the applications Sonny discovered for those pens, but I believe they were the most treasured colouring utensils on the planet.
I had never encountered such a boy as Sonny. In all my years of teaching, I had never witnessed someone of his age care enough about his friends to delay the gratification of playing with a new gift.
I told my three-year-old daughter, Pip, this story about Sonny as a way to introduce the idea of giving some of her toys away to other children this holiday. I explained that there were some children who lived in our town who didn’t have any toys, and it would make them feel happy if we shared our toys with them. My plan was for Pip to donate some of her toys to Santa’s Workshop.
It was a lofty goal. Pip’s eyes started to well up with tears as we stood in her bedroom and looked at her shelf-full of stuffed animals. As I pulled out one stuffed animal at a time to see if it passed the ‘donation’ test, Pip fought to control her emotions; eventually the damn burst, “But Mama, I love ALL of my stuffies!” She dropped into my arms and we had a cuddle. It was true. She did love all of her stuffies, and as we started to go through them, I realized that each toy had a special story. We bought Salty the Dragon at the Salt Spring Market on our first trip as a family of four, Brown Bunny was handed-down to us by my cousin Sheryl , Leo the Lion was given to Pip on her first birthday…it made me realize that we don’t do a lot of impulse buying for our daughters. Most of the toys, books and games that they own represent special occasions or special people in their lives.
This was going to be harder than I thought. Pip was only three years old, after all, and the degree of altruism I was asking of her would be difficult for most adults. I didn’t want to go behind Pip’s back and take her toys without her knowledge; that would teach her nothing about giving.
I spotted Pip’s piggy bank on her bookshelf, and remembered that ‘Planet Kids,’ (a local kids’ store,) was offering a discount to customers who bought gifts for Santa’s workshop. Pip and I talked about using some of her money to buy a new toy to give to another child, instead of giving away one of her beloved stuffies.
“That’s a great idea Mama!” Her mood changed instantly. She excitedly shook money out of her piggy bank and together, we picked out ten loonies to put in her blue-leopard-purse. “When can we go shopping for the kids like Sonny?” she asked.
I decided to strike while the iron was hot, so we bundled up and walked a few blocks to Planet Kids. I honestly didn’t know how the trip would go, but Pip was great. She knew the purpose of our shopping spree and she quickly chose a gift to buy. It was a Dr. Seuss, Horton Hears a Who blanket. “I bet a kid like Sonny would love a blanket like this, Mama.”
“I bet you’re right Pip.” We took Horton over to the counter and Pip pulled out her leopard purse. I thought we were home-free when Pip dropped the gift into the basket, but she had spotted the ‘horse display.’
“Mama, I really want this horse.”
“Well, we’re not buying anything for ourselves today, Pip, but you can write it on your list for Santa.”
“Okay, Mama.” It was hard for Pip, but she walked out of the store without making a fuss. She seemed a bit melancholy, and I knew she was thinking about the horses.
“That was a really nice thing you did, Pip. Some little child will be really happy to get that blanket.”
“Mama, I don’t think I can wait until Christmas to have a present,” the tears seemed threateningly near.
“I know, Sweetie. Waiting is hard.” I decided against any more ‘Christmas’ talk, and opted for a diversion instead. “Pip, let’s go home and paint the macaroni vases.”
“Yippeee!!! Let’s go paint the vases!” Sometimes, a little paint and macaroni is all it takes.
Monday December 21st, 2009 “Go easy.”
Carmela Pantuso
I am so sorry for not posting earlier today…it was indeed a crazy weekend with back-to-back photo shoots followed by our final Santa session today.
I learned a lot throughout seven shifts of photographing Santa with children, and the most important lesson was to take my time. The first session was incredibly busy and there was a steady line of families waiting for pictures throughout the afternoon. I felt some pressure to keep things moving along, and I didn’t take the time to really connect with the families. I still managed to capture some great photos, but the session was a bit of a blur.
In the next six sessions, I took my time. I got to know the families, I encouraged them to visit with Santa before setting up the photo, and I didn’t stop firing shots until I captured something I was truly excited about. There were times when I had several families waiting in line, but I hoped that they would realize that their children would also receive the same attention and time when it was their turn.
My Italian grandmother, Carmela, had a marvelous saying: ‘Go easy.’ English was her second language, and instead of saying, ‘take it easy,’ she would say, ‘go easy.’ I think I’m going to adopt it as my motto in life, because it’s a lesson that keeps popping up for me. I need to remember to go easy. Everything works out better when I slow things down and take the time to really ‘be’ in the moment.
I appreciated working with so many beautiful families over this past month; I feel privileged to have been a part of their memory-making.
I’ll leave you with a snippet of overheard conversation between Santa and a young boy of around six years of age.
Santa asked, “Now have you been a good boy this year?” and the boy pondered the question for a good ten seconds before answering,
“Kinda.”
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas filled with laughter and love.
Monday December 14th, 2009 “I am a typed director. If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach.”
Alfred Hitchcock
I lost myself for about half-an-hour one Saturday afternoon. I’m not sure where I went, but another mom, who buys impractical ‘high-heeled’ shoes and Barbies for her daughter inhabited my body. Pip had seen an advertisement for Barbie on television, and had decided to spend some of her piggy-bank money on a doll. She’d also been asking for high-heeled shoes like Dorothy’s for weeks. After explaining that you can’t run in high-heels, that they’re very uncomfortable and not good for your body, I finally said that they just don’t make high-heeled shoes for little girls. I thought I was telling the truth.
Wouldn’t you know it, as we strolled down the toy aisle at ‘Extra Foods’, Pip spotted a collection of high-heeled ‘dress-up’ shoes for young girls. They were three dollars a pair. “Do I have enough money to get these Mama?” How does one resist the BEAMING face of a three year old?
“Yes, you have enough money, Sweetie.” It was my voice, but clearly I wasn’t in my right mind. I haven’t bought a pair of heels for myself in ten years, (and it’s not just because they would elevate me to taller heights than my husband!) Pip tucked the shoes under her arm and perused a massive shelf of dolls. I was surprisingly happy to see Pip linger in front of the Cinderella doll next to Barbie. It’s not that I agree with the whole: ‘you need a prince to live happily-ever-after’ concept, but at least Cinderella had sensible shoes, (oh, except for the glass part,) and she wore a long gown, whereas Barbie was wearing a hot-pink, glittery mini-dress and stilletos! Pip chose the Cinderella doll.
I could tell when my husband saw Pip’s purchases, that he thought I had lost my mind. “Wow, look at these,” he said as he picked up the shoes. His eyebrows were raised as he looked at me, and the best I could come up with was,
“She bought them with her own money.” Big Daddy-O gave me a look. You know the kind.
The next morning, while I was enjoying a glorious sleep-in, Pip somehow convinced her father to let her exchange The Lady for The Tramp. Before I could weigh-in, Cinderella had left the building, and Pip was the proud new owner of the hot-pink Barbie.
When I asked her why she had taken Cinderella back to the store, she said that she thought the prince would choose Barbie instead of Cinderella. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT??? I buckled under pressure and responded with something like, “Oh, Pip, I’m sure that the prince would’ve been able to see that Cinderella had a good heart.” Pip wasn’t listening though, she was happily occupied with Barbie’s stilletos.
Now, I realize that I can’t shelter my daughters from all of the negative female images that society foists upon us, but must I welcome them into my home? It feels wrong. I don’t like the fact that my daughter now asks me if I have purple lipstick like Barbie. I think it’s unfortunate that she knows about lipstick at all!
So now I’m faced with a bit of a dilemma. Do I come clean with my three-year old daughter, explain my rationale behind the Barbie-boycott, then take the doll out of her wee hands? No. That would be torturous for both of us. I’m resorting to something much more deceitful: the mysterious disappearance of Barbie.
At the moment she’s in a basket atop Pip’s wardrobe, where she cannot be reached. It has been five days since Pip last played with Barbie, or asked about her, and I’m ready to remove her from the premises altogether. All I need is an opportunity and an alibi. If Pip asks about The Tramp, my plan is to lie and tell her I have no knowledge of her whereabouts.
As for the shoes, well, I’ll be employing the same strategy, mind you, Pip has never had them on longer than two minutes at a time and she has fallen twice while wearing them, so I don’t think they’ll be missed.
Whenever I feel guilty about the prospect of lying to Pip, I just think about her bed companion. Pip sleeps with an adorable little stuffed pig named Wilbur. Now, that’s more like it.
Monday December 7th, 2009 “There is always music amongst the trees in the garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it.”
Minnie Aumonier
Yesterday, we got our Christmas tree, and she’s a beauty. Perhaps not because of her shape or size, but because of how Pip taught me to look at her.
What amazed me about our tree-hunting adventure, was how Pip became immediately and deeply attached to one particular tree. It was a gorgeous, sunny Sunday and we had taken our little family to a lovely Christmas-tree-farm off of Knight Road. We were greeted by China the dog, then her owner gestured toward some hand-saws and let us through the gate to the field.
Initially Pip said, “I want to find the littlest tree, like in the book.” There is indeed a book we like to read called, “Little Tree,” by e.e.cummings, and Pip was on a mission to find a tree that was similar to the illustrations in her beloved book. Fig found a specimen so small it didn’t even warrant a price tag! It was more like a twig, but the girls liked the looks of it. After Big Daddy-O and I had a good chuckle, I explained that the tree wouldn’t be able to hold even one of our Christmas ornaments. We continued our search.
Perhaps a minute had passed when Pip ran straight toward a somewhat sparse-looking tree and yelled, “This one Mama! Let’s get this one!” My husband quickly dismissed it, due to its’ lack of bushiness, and he and Fig carried on their way. “Mama, this tree will be so sad if we don’t get it. Nobody else will take it home.”
I could just imagine the tree saying, “Hey kid, if nobody takes me home it means I GET TO LIVE!!!” So MOVE ALONG!”
I looked at the tree. It was nice, but I couldn’t figure out why it was so appealing to Pip. I checked the price. It was more than we had wanted to spend, so apparently Pip had expensive taste in trees. “Why do you like this one, Pip?”
“Because it’s branches are reaching down to hug me.”
I wasn’t expecting that one. As Pip embraced the tree, I realized that the branches did look rather inviting. Soft; not prickly. Still, we hadn’t been at the farm for very long, so I took Pip’s hand and told her that we might come back to this spot, but I wanted to see more trees. I started to move, but she pulled away from me and stayed with the tree.
“Mama!!!” Pip started to cry, “we have to get this tree!” Damn. The fact that Pip was now crying was precisely the reason why I could not tell her we’d get the tree. I had to help her calm down.
“Pip, I know that you love this tree, and there is a chance we will take it home if the whole family agrees, but crying is not going to help. Let’s go and find Dad and Fig and we can make a family-decision. We can always come back to this tree.” Pip pulled it together; she wiped her eyes, told her new pal that she’d be right back, and took my hand.
After we’d walked a few metres, I was compelled to look back and make sure I’d be able to spot the tree again. I could just imagine Pip running hysterically through the serene farm, screaming, “WHERE’S MY TREE??? I CAN’T FIND MY TREE!!!”
I needn’t have worried; it was easy to spot. It was as though the tree’s energy had altered now that I had seen my daughter talk to it and hug it and basically, bring it to life. There was some powerful, mystical sort of tree-illumination thing happening and there wasn’t a light in sight.
As Pip and I walked toward the rest of our family, I scrutinized every single tree, but they all paled in comparison. I realized that I was with Pip; I liked her tree. We met up with Fig and Big Daddy-O and he pointed out a few front-runners… “What about this one?” he’d ask, and I’d shake my head and provide a critical review.
Pip had been a good sport. She wasn’t crying or whining, so I told Big-Daddy-O that I thought Pip had already found a pretty special tree. Pip shone her little tree-hugging face up in my direction. “Follow me Dad!” Pip tore through the maze of green, directly into the waiting branches of her tree.
We all stood around ‘The Tree-Hugged’, and agreed that it was meant to celebrate Christmas with us. Not because it was the right height, or bushiness, or because the branches were strong enough to hold ornaments, but because we were all fortunate enough to see the tree through Pip’s eyes.
Monday November 30th, 2009 “Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”
– Hamilton Wright Mabi
Now that I have an opportunity to write, I’m realizing that I really missed my daily postings last week! It reminds me of when I moved away from home to go to the University of Alberta and my sister didn’t shed a tear when I left, but she bawled like a baby when I returned home for the Christmas holiday.
Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve missed your love, until you are reacquainted.
I have four ideas for posts today, but I’m going to write about my first Santa-photo-shoot because I’m just so excited about the entire experience. Not only was the actual ‘shoot’ fun and exciting, but the processing and packaging was fulfilling as well. As I slipped each photo into a greeting card I imagined how the parents would react when they opened the envelopes and saw their little beauties on Santa’s lap. Some images were hilarious, some were sweet, and, as I prepared each photo, I learned that just the idea of providing parents with a lasting image of a precious moment in time really rocks my world!!! My next photo-shoot isn’t until next Saturday, and already I cannot wait to get back at it!!! It’s a good sign.
What I really want to write about is Timothy. He showed up after the shoot was over and Santa had left the building, (with a very happy-looking Mrs. Claus I might add,)
“Is Santa gone?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Will he be here tomorrow?”
“No, but he’ll be here next Saturday,” I said as I packed up my equipment.
“Oh. I won’t be able to come next Saturday. Do you take the pictures of Santa?”
“Yes.”
“Can you give him my list?”
Timothy reached into his pocket and pulled out his carefully written Christmas list. Now, I had anticipated that I would have a good time taking photos of kids, I suspected that I would enjoy watching the magical exchange between Santa and each child he conversed with, but I didn’t expect that a child would consider me a part of that magic. Timothy surprised me by assuming that I had a direct line to Santa.
“Of course,” I said, checking the list, “is your name on it?”
“Nope; my name’s Timothy.”
“Okay Timothy.”
I have the list in my camera bag and will most definitely give it to Santa, along with some special-secret- signal. With any luck, Timothy will make it to the mall one Saturday before Christmas, and wouldn’t it be grand if Santa pulled Timothy’s list out from his pocket?
 The Happy Clauses
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