2011 was the first and last year we ever did advent. My eldest was three, his little brother not even a twinkle in our eye. We had found a beautiful hanging advent calendar made from brightly colored fabric, resembling a Peruvian-style weave. It was in the shape of a tree with 24 post-it-note sized pockets.
The weekend prior to this discovery, we stumbled across a box of Melissa and Doug dinosaur magnets, a perfect treat for an aspiring paleontologist. With 24 pockets stuffed and ready to go, we thought our first advent as parents would be great! Boy, were we wrong.
On December 1st, my son woke up at his regular too-early-time of 5:30 am. He pitter-pattered along the tile hallway into the family room, un-phased by our calls of “wait for us” and, “what time is it?” By the time we clamored out of bed to watch him open the first pocket, he’d already emptied it. Starstruck by the new shiny dinosaur magnet in his hands, we should have known what was about to unfold.
The following day was a repeat of the morning before. Again, we got out of bed too late to see the look on our son’s face, as he discovered the next magnet.We were tired, a little grumpy, and yes, now that you mention it… it did seem earlier than the morning before. But the joy on our child’s face was worth it. We both smiled down at our adoring son and ignored the growing bags under our eyes.
Each day in December came and went, and they all looked roughly the same. “Wait for us! What times is it?” It wasn’t until mid-way through December that we noticed our coffee was dwindling faster than normal. We kept falling asleep on the couch in the early evenings, and breakfast time seemed to be getting darker and darker. Something had gone terribly wrong.
In case you’re wondering, 2:30 am is not an okay time to be woken up, not even for a new dinosaur magnet.
By December 24th of that year, we were really ready for advent to be over. We’d thought about hiding the advent calendar around day ten, when we could foresee our future of earlier and earlier mornings. But that plan was dependent upon our son having a poor memory. To this day, he had a near eidetic memory. We considered letting him open all the pockets on a single day, but that option was also ruled out. Let’s be honest, he still would have expect a dinosaur magnet the next day. And then there was the idea of threatening to take it away all together. We could have told him he had to stay in bed till 6 am, or else. But threatening our three year old during advent didn’t feel very Christmassy.
In the end, we decided to accept our fate and give in to the before-dawn-advent-extravaganza of 2011. We stumbled our way through the rest of December, bleary-eyed and jittery, hopped up on much too much coffee, golf ball sized bags staring back at us from under our eyes.
That was the year we vowed never to do advent again. And we would have stuck with that plan, but who could have anticipated a global pandemic in which we all need an extra boost of holiday cheer?
So with much trepidation, in December of 2020, we gave advent another chance. Lego calendars were purchased, and a hallowed spot was carved out for them in the family room. Expectations were laid down, fingers were crossed, and boys were tucked into bed early the night of November 30th.
The fear of another sleepless month, doubly tiring with double the children, kept me up that night. I was jumpier than normal and awoke more easily at the light click of our dog’s nails on the laminate floor. But as I saw the first glimmer of light peeking in from behind the blinds, all was quiet. Boys, if awake, were still in their beds. I felt a tinge of excitement rise within me. Perhaps it would be okay, maybe even fun.
I’m happy to report that we weren’t disappointed. The entire month of advent was a treat, and such a nice distraction from our more crabby pandemic mornings, getting ready for virtual work/school. So when November rolled around this year, I picked up advent calendars for all of us. Yes, even us adults.
We’re sure to have some early mornings, and maybe even some complaints about who got the better Lego on any given day. But as it turns out, it’s not so much about having a perfect holiday. It’s about appreciating the experience for what it is, knowing that the imperfections are part of the package.
We can waste so much time and energy trying to make the holidays perfect, only to feel let down when they don’t live up to the image we’ve created in our minds. But isn’t it true that our most memorable moments are the ones in which things went awry? When things turned out to be anything but perfect?
My mom used to say she was in the business of making memories, and while she put a great deal of effort into planning for the holidays, she also had a knack for making space for the unexpected hiccups and interruptions that she intuitively knew would come to be the most beloved moments in family lore, more so than any perfectly placed decoration or curated family photo.
It’s hard to enjoy the holidays when we expect or demand perfection. There’s beauty in spontaneity and mess. And even when we’re woken up at 2:30 am for far too many days in a row, we have to chuckle at the absurdity of it all, because otherwise, there would be a lot more tears.
Click the play button to listen to this article read by Anon Gray.
