O Little Christmas Tree

Remember Charlie Brown's Christmas with the sad little tree? That was my real life painful memory two years ago. By the time I dragged that tree into position, half the needles fell off. And, nobody cared about that blasted tree. I decorated it and we forgot it in the rec room at back of the house. It was months after Christmas before I could work up the energy to take the blasted thing down and discard it.

Last year, I did not get a tree. I got a live Christmas wreath instead and hung it on the front door. (I can still hear my sister's cackle when I told her about my wreath!) While it assuaged the dread of the tree and was nice in it's own right, something still felt unsettled.

Ever since my divorce, Christmas trees have been a kind of trigger for me. It painfully reminds me that the family that used to go to the local fire station to get a tree, then get hot cocoa and donuts and go home to decorate the tree was no more. I hated the idea that I "had" to get a tree because their dad was getting one. And nobody wanted to help me decorate the tree. So, while I was able to Marie Kondo the joyless tree last year, something was still amiss and I couldn't put my finger on it.

I grew up with a fake tree, so getting a real tree when I got married was a kind of novelty. We started getting a real tree when we had kids, because otherwise, we traveled back home for Christmas and there was no point in having a tree sitting in an empty house on Christmas Day. Once we split up, that tradition, like many other things, could not be easily split up into neat parcels.

The first year, I got a gorgeous artificial tall tree with all the trimmings from Freecycle. It seemed like a great provision. It was a generic tree with garlands, trimmings and ornaments in a color scheme and such. I used it for three years (and only had to put it up twice because one year I just left it up *all year*). Since it already had everything needed, I didn't open my family ornaments for three years. I just did not have the bandwidth to deal with those memories.

Year 4, I went through my treasure of ornaments, and threw out the stupid golf ball ornaments and all the other things I just never really liked. I was left with the cute school projects and sentimental ornaments that meant something. My generic tree now became more personalized, but I dreaded putting the darn thing away in the 8 boxes it came in. And again, because of its size, the tree was relegated to the back room, where it was forgotten again.

So, while remnants of the fake tree hang around in my basement, I made up my mind to not use it anymore. It was a reminder of things cast off, just like my marriage. So, I circled back to the idea of a real tree and the Charlie Brown trigger effect.

This year, I thought about getting a ceramic tree but that was just meh. I glumly decided that there would be no tree. My kids have outgrown Santa and it was a joyless experience dealing with a tree. The whole saga was renting too much space in my brain and ruining Christmas. I was really starting to get depressed about the holidays. That is, until a dear friend told me about her tabletop tree. Two to three feet max. Fake, lit, and done. On a table.

That idea was inspiring! The clouds began to part. This was exactly what I needed to hear. Why did I need a big tree? I could have a small tree, with the lights and space for presents. It could do everything I needed with a regular tree with none of the fuss. And my friend did me one better. She GOT me a tree. She saw a prelit job on Amazon and just got it!

I kid you not, you literally get it out of the box, bend the branches downward, install the legs, plug it in and voila!

The tree was small enough that I decided to put it in the dining room, where we would see it and enjoy it every day. It's even near a window, so you can see the lights from outside. This was just the kick I needed to inspire the Christmas spirit. I put out a Christmas village that I keep for my Single Moms ministry (we use it once a year for a brunch and it otherwise stays in a bin all year long). And, drumroll please, I pulled out my Nativity set that I kept forgetting to put out each year! 

This is the same Nativity Set that I kept in the kitchen in my herb window and resulted in a huge fight because my ex hated it there.

This little tree is like a balm to my soul. It fits. It resolves all those doubts and fears in my head about my inadequacy. It's MY tree. MY tradition. Something that I started for my intact family of four. It's particularly poignant that the tree was given to me. It wasn't a hand me down or an attempt to keep an old tarnished tradition. It was its own gift, with the lights that give me so much joy and time to reflect on the holiday itself. Christmas is not about pasting a smile on your face and pretending everything is just sparkly and great. Christmas is a light that shines in a bleak, hopeless and hurting world. My little tree is a gift that reminds me that Christmas itself is indeed a gift of unspeakable joy, mystery and profound hope in the dark.

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In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. - John 1:4-5

The Magic of Coffee

As the only adult in the house for a while, I have opted for instant coffee because I only need 1-2 cups of coffee a day, which I drink in the afternoon. So why am I dusting off a coffee maker now? Well, because I have a 17 year old and after many years of not letting my kids have coffee, he has made the cut.

Coffee is my social drink of choice. Some people go to bars or drink liquor to relax. I drink coffee. To relax. You heard it right. My mother can't settle down and sleep without a cup of coffee before bed. For a Puerto Rican especially, café con leche is a celebration unto itself. If a Puerto Rican host does NOT offer you a café con leche (even at 9 o'clock at night), that is their polite way of telling you the party is over and you need to take the hint. Coffee enjoyment may be in our Puerto Rican blood, but for me, an important ingredient is ADHD.

I noticed the calming effects of coffee for me when I was home raising my little ones. Once they were down for naps, I'd settle in for a cup of coffee and just take a few minutes to ponder the day. If I didn't get that naptime in, I was on edge for the day. Anxiety skyrocketed and my patience was nowhere to be found. (I was also sleep deprived for the first 7 years of my parenting, so all these symptoms were exaggerated). 

However, looking back, I noticed something else. It wasn't the lack of naps that put me on edge. It was that I didn't have that pause with a cup of coffee to center me on those no-nap days. I noticed this because when they were older, even if the kids did not nap, if I had that cup of coffee (reheated a few times in the microwave probably), a feeling of general goodwill came over me. I really can't describe it to the neurotypical mind, but I literally would feel myself relax and it's like I could hear someone saying, "It's going to be OK. You got this." I was also able to focus a lot better and get things done.

That general feeling of goodwill and a sort of calming down of the brain is the EXACT effect that stimulants have on the ADHD brain. ADHD brains are constantly searching for a dopamine hit, which is why our brains wander and we move a lot. It's hard to focus if something is really boring, because we don't have as much dopamine as everyone else running around in our brains. THIS is why stimulants work for an ADHD brain. They have the opposite effect of what a stimulant does, which, for a neurotypical mind, is to boost your energy and make you excitable. For us, we get the dopamine hit we crave and our brains are content. We can stop the searching and now, we can relax and focus on just one or two things. Yes, it is counterintuitive, and seems like an excuse, but it's real. It's why I can drink a cup of coffee at 8pm and drift right off to bed an hour later! 

For me, the effect of coffee will eventually stack up. I can't just go around drinking 3-4 cups a day. But that first cup is like gold for my brain, which brings me back to my boy.

After spending a year and half not having to sit in a classroom and being able to go to school online, my boy was in his element. He was in control of his own schooling destiny, for the most part, and while socially, it was depressing since he missed his friends, school wise, he didn't need meds to get him through the day.

The structure of classes now that we are back to in-person learning has been grating on him. He has anxiety with coursework, boring classes, college applications, tests and a part time job. He naps during the day and sleeps fitfully at night. I proposed that he try the meds again to see if that would help. It helped him focus but he didn't feel like himself and it got depressing for him. The meds might be too strong and he has way better impulse control than when he was in fourth grade. Enter coffee! It's the magical over the counter elixir that continues to work for me. You don't need a script and while it can be addictive, is easier to stop. He's old enough now that I don't have concerns about the effects on his heart rate or growth due to the caffeine (which is why I don't let my young kids drink coffee).

So we'll see how this goes. In typical Millennial fashion, my boy prefers oatmilk in his coffee. (Atta boy, black coffee is like blasphemy!) And, I'm enjoying a cup of real brewed coffee again, at home. 

Beets, Bear Hugs, Battlestar Galactica

It was a small, incidental moment, but it changed me in a profound way. I'm blogging about it so that I make sure this little moment is not forgotten. It's too important not to remember.

As I was shopping at ALDI, a little boy approached me and my cart and started to move my cart away. I thought for sure that the little boy was mistaken and thought he was taking back his own cart. But, alas, that was not it. 

He wordlessly moved the cart out of the way to get to me. And, he practically climbed on me and gave me a fierce full body hug. He clung to me. I wish I could say I knew this kid, but I had never seen him before. I was surprised, but hugged him back and looked around for a parent, when his dad sheepishly said, "Oh yeah, he likes to give folks hugs." I assured him that in this post-COVID, mask wearing world, it was fine. I figured the kid had to be about 5 years old, so it was understandable that he might not be able to control an impulse, even in this guarded, no-contact world we now live in. As his dad took him and walked away, I waved and said, "Thank you!", as a way of letting them both know that this show of affection, while surprising, was fine by me. I didn't even get a name. It just happened so fast.

There was something in how that kid clung to me that was endearing. As a little black boy, hugging a complete stranger, it dawned on me that there was also a sense of urgency that was not lost on me. It was as if he was trying to "fix" all the problems of his world. He was trying to show other adults that did not look like him that he is good. He is nice. He is part of the solution.

And that's when I lost it. I was thankful that I was wearing a mask so nobody could see the tears, but my heart broke for that kid and for humanity because of his need to "fix" things. I've seen it before. When my black colleagues smile a little extra and go above and beyond to show their white peers that they are "nice" and "trustworthy". When the glad-handing and handshaking and greetings take on an almost exaggerated affair because first impressions last and first impressions are biased against them even before they get a chance to open their mouths.

As a Jersey Girl and Newark native, I've also had to do that dance. The "I don't bite, let me be a filtered, softer, nicer, less loud" version of myself so I can "pass". This built-in reserve was already built into this little kid. He already had to "prove things" and "fix problems", mostly, because adults have been too self-absorbed to notice that the little kids around us see the crazy that is going on. The stability that we as grown ups are supposed to provide for them is like shifting sand and this is the world they are trying to navigate.

I'll never forget that kid's fierce hug. That need to share, the passion for life. I can only hope and pray that he never loses that passion and the hope that keeps him moving in the right direction. He will experience tragedy, loss, rejection and despair. And I can only hope that love, that desire to chase after and fix things, will remain. Until then, we can take a lesson from my affectionate friend. Are we chasing after the wind with our proclamations and opinions? Or are we taking time to take stock of our world and what we can do to make it better? Are we going to dig our heels in and wallow in shallow victories, or will we roll up our sleeves and painstakingly invest in others that are not like us so that we can all be richer for it. I'm betting on the kid. I wanna be like him when I grow up.

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Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” - Matthew 19:14

Sleep 101 License Purchase

The Christmas Generosity Game

I don't have any extremely horrible or crazy memories of Christmases past, (well except that one Christmas when the fish tank broke, spewed water overnight and got into the red tree stand cover which made our living room look like a bloodbath for a hot minute) but I could never put my finger on why I didn't like listening to Christmas carols on the radio during this time of year. Honestly, they always made me kind of sad and I couldn't figure out why.

This year though, I think I have stumbled upon why. As I struggle with my unwillingness to buy my daughter a $150 robot dog toy, I've drawn closer to what I have always struggled with during Christmas - the generosity game. As a young adult, Christmas almost always seemed about who could outdo one another with gift giving and I was never comfortable with that.

I'm cheap. I'm frugal. And, gift giving is NOT my strong suit. It genuinely makes me feel uncomfortable that if I spend $200 on a gift for you, I must think really highly of you, but it makes me feel like a show off. But, if I only spend $20 on you, then I'm some kind of Scrooge and maybe everybody knows it. So, there it is. In full disclosure: not because the economy is hard, not because I don't have enough this year - I NEVER like spending a lot of money on gifts.

Don't get me wrong. You need help? I'm there. I wouldn't bat an eye to help someone financially if there was a need because I always save money for a rainy day. But, I've never been unflinchingly generous when it comes to just giving a gift. I've battled this, every Christmas, for years, while other folks knock each other over for Christmas stuff on Black Friday.

For me, Christmas carols just seem to crystallize this idea that for 3-4 weeks, everyone is "in great spirits and extra generous" and as soon as Christmas 26th rolls around, it's back to the usual. I think I see fakeness in just plastering music and gifts and not carrying that spirit over for the rest of the year. And, I see an inner condemnation of myself, that maybe I'm not as generous as I should be. That maybe I am a terrible person, because I cannot, will not, get somebody a $150 gift, unless it was something that was practical and needed anyway (and, yes, on sale).

Folks have always complained about Christmas being so expensive and stressful. I always spent well within a budget and did not get really ostentatious gifts. Safe and boring, perhaps, but I didn't break the bank to fit the image of what Christmas should be. Many folks even define Christmas by how their funding for Christmas is going to be. It's going to be a "bad Christmas" if you got laid off or a pay cut. It's going to be a "good Christmas" if you got a raise or a promotion. Not only that, you have the generosity game that you have to play. Did you get a gift for everyone? Did you think about the mailman and your co-workers? Me? Yes, but not in terms of gift shopping. A "Merry Christmas" greeting should suffice, and no, I'm not getting a bunch of people presents because I'm "supposed" to. So there it is: I'm kind of like a Grinch in this worldly Christmas society. The Christmas carols remind me that the generosity game is starting again and I have to be strong enough not to compete.

Why do we get people gifts in the first place? Is it because Christmas reminds us of a gift that we have the chance to receive that is better than anything we can imagine? Is it because the generosity of God's own son Jesus makes everyone so thankful that they have to celebrate with gifts? Perhaps. But if people don't see Jesus, then the gift giving seems like a shallow waste of time to me.

Jesus came as a baby, to become our deliverer. That is the Christmas story. He came as a baby, lived a sinless life, then died to pay for our sins. If we believe in Him, we have the opportunity to spend eternity with Him in heaven. Why did He have to die and why did I need to be forgiven? Because none of us is righteous. We've all done something evil, whether it was lying, stealing or even having hatred in our hearts. And we are all guilty. God is so pure and holy, that He can't have anything to do with us in this state. Based on whether we've all lived a good life, we are all condemned. And, that is why the greatest gift, Jesus, came. He died for our sins, so that in Him, God would see us and see the goodness and purity of Jesus instead of our convicted hearts. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

So, for me, whether I give you a $150 toy or a $10 box of chocolates, the real Christmas story is the same. That is the most important gift I can share, that Jesus loved all of us so much that anyone who trusts in Him will have eternal life in Heaven. And, no, I am not getting that $150 dollar toy. She'll get the $40 cat, which is cuddly, purrs and only does 3 tricks instead of 30. She'll be disappointed that she didn't get the "expensive" gift. And, she'll learn, hopefully from me, that the most important gift anyone could get, was born in a manger more than two thousand years ago.

Good Grief - A Pathway to Hope

Scene from Pixar's UP

Everything worked out amazingly well - or at least, way better than I expected.  We had reached a fair and equitable settlement agreement, and avoided a lengthy trial in a matter that should have brought tremendous relief.  But when I saw my lawyer's email, with the subject line of "Congratulations!", I was overwhelmed with an almost suffocating sadness.

It surprised and shocked me how sad I was.  The last 18 months, going through a separation and divorce, culminated in a way that left me fairly intact, independent and thankful.  So why was I sad?  I did not want to get remarried.  I started a great job and though my finances took a severe beating, I was left with the ability to re-title and retain the home my children and I currently lived in.  I certainly wouldn't be leading a lavish lifestyle, but my needs were taken care of. Given the circumstances, I felt blessed.

As the theme of Up reverberated in my head, ("Things We Did" would end up playing in my head, nonstop, for at least three days....), the only word I could come up with was: Grief.  It didn't seem to make sense though.  I processed all my grief at my DivorceCare sessions.  I worked through all my challenges and stayed strong.  Initially, I figured it was still nerves at having to still appear before a judge the next day to formalize things.

But after the half-hour court appearance drew to a close, the sadness didn't dissipate. As I shared a time of camraderie with my lawyer and my witness (and my BFF) afterward, I was internally nostalgic.  It was almost like when Catcher in the Rye's Holden Caulfield starting missing the bouncer, Maurice, who beat him up, when Holden left private school.  Instead of feeling better after the trial, the grief was still there, its tentacles wrapping around my heart.

The next morning, I realized what I didn't have time to process before.  I was so busy taking care of the externals, making sure the kids were OK, giving them time to transition and grieve, finding a job, holding down the fort, grappling with new responsibilities and keeping strong that I never really processed my emotions for all the junk I went through. I wasn't able to "go there" because I needed to stay focused and take care of business.

Now it seemed, my subconscious was telling me that now that the externals are fixed, it's time to take care of the inside.  And it would not let go.  I was a walking basket case, crying in sudden fits and unable to contain myself. I was so grief-stricken and unable to concentrate that I met with my boss that morning, explained that I was in a grieving process now that my divorce was finalized and that I needed some personal time (half-days off work for the next two days, until the weekend), so I could have time to process.  I knew "everything was going to be OK", but I needed time and space to grieve.  I needed to be able to cry my eyes out, without anybody whispering platitudes or feeling sorry for me.

A typical project manager, I scheduled my grief.  I worked half days for the rest of the week, so I could accomplish a few tasks, then go off and fall apart in private.  I didn't trust myself to take whole days off, lest I fall into an abyss and not be able to recover.  It seemed kind of nutty, but it was really clear how much I needed that space.  By allowing myself to acknowledge that it's going to be emotionally hard for a while and that it's OK to feel that way, it brought me out of total despair.

Isn't it ironic?  The only way to get rid of the grief is to process it head on.  Instead of stoically soldiering on with a "stiff upper lip" pretending it doesn't hurt, the strongest, wisest thing to do when in despair is to acknowledge it and allow yourself to experience it.  I call this good grief.

The weekend after my emotional breakdown, I just spent a lot of time listening to music, talking to myself and God and embracing the pain of the things I lost and maybe never had.  I spent a lot of time wandering through a small town across the bridge so I wouldn't have to run into folks I knew and "explain things".  I didn't have to pretend everything was OK and I spent a lot of time alone so I could process all the junk in my heart.  I also avoided making any big decisions, well except the refinancing of my house, which prompted the visit to the small tourist town in the first place.

I must be clear that this is not a pity party.  This is not a time to wallow in hopelessness and cry out "Why me?"  It's a temporary time to express your pain and allow yourself to feel sad about something and to be OK with "this hurts!".

The grief will still be there, in drips and drabs.  But, at least having some space clears your mind to focus on recovery and other things when you are good and ready.  It is really important to re-engage with life slowly.  Check in with a friend or have an accountability partner that you feel comfortable talking to.  Avoid making drastic changes if you can avoid it.  Reduce any extra activities and hold off on taking on more commitments.

The only grief that is insurmountable is the grief we refuse to acknowledge.  Getting in touch with the pain helps it start to go away.

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"... provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair."
- Isaiah 61:3a (NIV)

The Men in My Life

It's Valentine's Day, and as a freshly minted single person, the typical niceties of this holiday will not fly by my radar this year.  As tempting as it could be to be sad, bitter and resentful, I just can't do it.

Even though I won't get a box of chocolates or another sweet surprise from a "significant other", I am thankful for the men in my life.  Over the past year, these "Mr. Rights" have proven time and again, that there are some good fish in the sea.  Men are not all jerks, and I have to give credit where it is due.  It has been really striking to me to see the number of men that have graciously rallied their support for me and my kids during the last year and I know it's no coincidence.

So, this Valentine's Day, I just want to commemorate the fabulous men that God has placed in my life, for the express purpose of validating the hope I have.  There are some amazing men out there that prove that chivalry is not dead, so I figure I'd recognize them on this holiday.  (Especially since I won't be out on a date anywhere!)  And, so as not to embarrass anyone too terribly, I won't get into full names.

Matt is my financial advisor.  I've been with him since 2003, when I applied for a "dream job" that I didn't get.  While the job didn't pan out (good thing, because I became a mom a year later...) Matt's wise financial counsel has helped me make the adjustment from dual income no kids, to 3 kids, to riding the storm of being a single, unemployed mom.  We just had a conversation the other day, which waxed philosophical, because we share similar beliefs.  And, he's from the old school of proactively watching his accounts instead of just collecting more and more clients.  He's moved from one place to another, but I'll go wherever he goes, because his advice has always been rock solid.

Thomas is my lawyer.  And, yes, while it is awful that I even need a lawyer, you'll never find a more personable, authentic advocate.  In Spanish, the word for lawyer is abogado - "advocate" and Thomas has done it in spades.  Since he was a teacher before he was a lawyer, he makes sure to explain things in a way that you can understand it.  His empathy is enough to get you going, but does not cloud his professional judgement, which is based on a strong sense of ethics.

Brian is one of my Pastors.  He's also a diehard Yankees fan living in Maryland, so he immediately has both my camraderie and sympathy as a kindred spirit.  Brian led me through the very painful process of confronting conflict through peacemaking and it was not easy.  He was able to work with me to assess my areas of accountability and keep me focused on Christ and not anger.  Relatively speaking, Brian is a "younger pastor", but he's lived through enough trials on his own that reveal to me his great faith and ability to empathize with others.

Skip is my boss.  Before you accuse me of trying to flatter for personal gain, I'll just tell you why, in just a short time, I know he's one of the best bosses I've ever had.  In my interview (mind you, I'd been a stay at home mom for the last nine years), I told the interview panel that my family is my first priority and that might affect my availability during odd hours and such.  He was visibly affected during the interview.  He didn't say it then, and the tell was but a glimpse, but I saw that he got it.  Afterward, he encouraged me to establish a good work/life balance so my family could come first.  On my first day, he gave me a tour.  He couldn't tell you where we went or which parts of the building I saw (my job is to manage the buildings), but he made a point of introducing me to everyone he saw.  A true people person who is passionate about his organization - right up my alley.

Patrick is my best friend's hubby.  While he does his best to portray a very irritated obnoxious bully, his actions betray him.  He's always been willing to lend a hand, fixed my sump pump and let me borrow tools.  And while he'll nag me and pester me to return his things, I know, that without him admitting it, he's got my back.  He's one of the few of my friends' husbands that will actually chill out with us and join our conversations. 

Bill is another one of my Pastors.  Each quarter, our church has adult Sunday School.  There are three to four classes that you can pick from and it's great to go to Sunday School before church.  No doubt, the other classes are very informative and enriching, but I just go to "Bill's class", regardless of the topic.  It's one of the few classes that has a time of heartfelt sharing and prayer among participants (and coffee and donuts)!  Bill's heart for everyone around him is contagious.  There is no condemnation or judgement, but love and understanding as he shares about the Great Hope he has.

Carl is the Chief Ranger for the Christian Service Brigade, a group for boys to learn about being Godly leaders.  Carl graciously brings my oldest son home every week after their Stockade meeting and takes him along with his boys for an evening jaunt to McD's on the way home.  My son is getting the benefit of seeing a Christian role model who genuinely enjoys my son's zany humor, gazillion questions and amazing intellect.  An esteemed scientist and director of a data mining company, Carl thought it was awesome that my son could intuitively ascertain the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence on a napkin without prompting.  Who knew!?

Glenn is my third Pastor.  Certainly not the least in the bunch, he is the Senior Pastor and works with my other two pastors.  (I'm blessed with three awesome Pastors!)  A confirmed agnostic who found Christ in college, Glenn has a great way of presenting his teachings in a visual way and lifting out amazing nuggets of truth in the Bible.  He is proof that you don't have to check your brains at the door to have faith. 

This is certainly not an all inclusive list, but I have to stop somewhere.  It's awesome to have so many men in my life that have been there for me even though I'm single.  God has shown me in a very touching way that I am not defined by my social status.  I don't have to wait until I "find someone" to be complete.  And, He's guiding me through, with a few angels by my side.

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For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11