Skip to main content

Christmas Artist

My three year old son is a Christmas artist.  His favourite part of the season so far is the decorating part. He petitioned to have the tree up early in the month and took charge of decorating it,packing ornaments on to the tree in a concentrated clump of shiny glory!  Even though I would say most, if not all, of our decorations have already been put up, he continues to implore us to keep decorating. Maybe there are more things in the basement that we missed?  We need to make more decorations.  Perhaps, that ribbon can go on the tree?

The other day, as he sat in the swing on the edge of the woods on a cold clear and extremely quiet mid-December afternoon, he noted that the swing was making a tick-tocking sound, just like a clock.  We were quiet for a while in the stillness, the swing tick-tocked. After a while, he added: "It's nice here." He gestured over to a nearby home and said, "you know,that house is really nice, the decorating is really nice." He went on to ruminate on design: "You know, the wood part is really hard to do, but the decorating part is easy for me."

He declared his concern for our Christmas tree. He predicted that Santa will say: "This is an angry mess!  There is no star on the tree!!!"  He explained how important a star would be to our Christmas tree. Upon returning home, another frenzy of making Christmas decorations ensued.  Finally, he noted with satisfaction, as we admired our work from the couch: "Oh Mama!! I can see the Christmas tree in your eyes."  Well done. Hopefully, we have appeased Santa in the decorating department, still working on the angry mess though.



Labels

Labels:

Comments

  1. introphoto12/22/2011 5:36 pm

    Oh Sam, you take all the right things seriously.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I entered August without you.

 I won't visit you this month.  You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you.   I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.
1 comment
Read more

Fists full of lettuce

 It is a pot of a variety of lettuce plants. It was planted by my mom.  She has been living with Stage 4 bile duct cancer for at least 1.5 years (that we know of, probably a lot longer).  Standing and gardening are becoming harder as time goes on. She learned about gardening from her dad as a kid and kept on gardening every year of her adult life.  Sometimes the gardens were tiny or rudimentary, but with the help of my dad , they have become major and, at times elaborate, growing projects over the years.  Now it is a collection of raised beds and regular beds that hold a host of plants, vegetable and flowers. Something that was clear that first spring with Stage 4 cancer is that gardening would continue in a big way, cancer or no cancer.  It was important to order the seeds and start them inside and get them planted outside, no matter what. Spending time together in the summer with cancer now consistently involves gardening and following instructions. Plant...
Post a Comment
Read more

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still.   We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue.  Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision.  They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped.  Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
1 comment
Read more