13 December
2017
Merry Christmas from our home, where
as I write, Rebecca is ripping open other people’s presents under the tree (Sorry,
Kendra!). This year in particular I have struggled to write a Christmas letter.
It was a year where few noteworthy things happened: we didn’t take any exotic
vacations, didn’t run any marathons (have we ever?), and mostly just adjusted
to life as a family of 4. On reflecting, I think the most exciting thing that
happened this year was the time Benjamin accidentally ran over the neighbor kid
with his motorized Jeep. Somewhat exciting? Sure. Christmas letter worthy? No.
And yet here I am, telling you about toddler hit and runs. Merry Christmas!
Everybody is fine, by the way. But let this be a reminder that the suburbs have
their own dangers.
Basically it was a year of small
things. Rebecca was an infant when 2017 began, and my motto repeatedly during
the difficult early months was “keep your head down.” What I meant was, just
focus on the small, day-to-day tasks in front of you and try to take life in
small pieces. If I became too concerned with the big picture—when will I ever
sleep again? How many more months until this child can eat solid foods? When
will I ever find a normal life rhythm again?—I felt very overwhelmed. Approaching
life myopically was the best option. But the result was that in looking back
the year also felt small, uneventful, and much of my memories are of the mundane:
diapers, dishes, picking up 100 Ziploc sandwich bags from the floor every day
(emptying drawers being a favorite pastime of Rebecca’s). But as anyone with
small kids knows, the challenge is to find joy in the simple tasks and treasure
in the ordinary.
So in that spirit, let me share with
you some of the small treasures and everyday snapshots I do remember of the
year:
-Benjamin seated on the breakfast
bench next to Andrew every single weekday morning while Andrew takes an 8:00
a.m. work call. Later, I would overhear Benjamin on his toy phone saying
phrases like “Elastic Search Plug-In.”
-Rebecca looking wide-eyed (a
euphemism for unbelievably startled) at every single person she saw for the
first 6 months of her life.
-Staying at a house along the
Klickitat River with my family over the summer. Coming back to the house after
an afternoon fishing and seeing Benjamin running in circles in the front yard
with my mom, the sun setting, bubbles trailing from the wand in his hand.
-Finally potty training Benjamin.
Hearing him walk down the stairs 5 times a day yelling, “Momma! I pottied!” The
excitement and inflection are the exact same every time.
-Enjoying the process but attempting
to no avail to perfect my green curry recipe so that I can stop pining for the
Thai restaurant down the street. Why is it so much better than mine? Legitimately
asking.
-Andrew waking up perfectly lucid and
coherent from knee surgery. No embarrassing viral videos to be had.
-So many late nights with Rebecca,
walking her around the darkness of her room, simultaneously trying to feel the
shape and weight of her body so that I could impress it on my heart and mind
for when she would be too big to hold like this, and also desperately,
desperately wanting to put her down and go to sleep.
-Hiking the base of Mount Hood with
Elizabeth and Jonathan, and my in-laws Rich and Cindy, in which my 60-year-old
in-laws were out of sight and up the mountain in a matter of minutes while the
rest of us younger ones complained about things like altitude and inclines and
knee pain, and slowly trudged along.
-July, tying the fishing lines my dad
taught me over and over again with the same lure, hoping the muscle memory
would last me the rest of my life. Curious if it has even lasted me through the
winter…
-Finally convincing Andrew to buy a
grill this summer, which we used for basically every summer dinner: grilled
pesto pizza, grilled chicken with homemade barbecue sauce, vegetable kebabs.
How have we lived the last 5 years without one?
-Andrew turning the lock in the door
at the end of the day, so relieved to see him and glad he is finally home and
the parent-to-child ratio is reset.
-Every single morning I used my Keurig
and thought of all my Oregon coffee snob friends judging me. Contentedly
sighing as I felt not one ounce of regret at my instant hot coffee.
-Long evenings talking to Rich and
Cindy when they stayed with us for the month of August.
-Benjamin playing his ukulele every
day, and still left-handed. He has had to start learning chords upside down
since he refuses to switch. His latest hits include “Pinecone Song” and
“Rockout Song.”
-Rebecca’s “crawl,” which is both
endearing and terrifying. She drags her body by doing the splits and then folds
her left leg under her, flopping forward. The rhythm is unsettling, and as my
brother pointed out, looks like something from Resident Evil.
-Accompanying Andrew on a quick work
trip to North Carolina and basking in 5 hours of uninterrupted quality time on
the plane, followed by the perfect southern pulled pork dinner.
-Rebecca aggressively cuddling her
stuffed kitty upon every reunion at night in her crib. And Benjamin petting his
stuffed puppy’s ears so much it eventually tore a hole in one of them. I think
these stuffed animals will be treasures of mine forever when the kids are done
with them—a small part to represent the whole of the preciousness of childhood.
Let me leave you with one last
Christmas snapshot. Benjamin is practicing to sing with the other preschool
kids for our Christmas Eve service. They are going to perform “Go, Tell it on
the Mountain.” Currently he’s strumming his ukulele and mixing up the words a
bit, but he has this verse memorized: “Down in a lowly manger the humble Christ
was born / And brought us God’s salvation that blessed Christmas morn.” I’m
reminded that Christ Himself was born into the lowly and commonplace. He is
always able to meet us where we are and transform our everyday elements, our
bread and butter, into a gracious feast. I think he’s done that with me this
past year—in the mundane, in the drudgery of seemingly meaningless and
never-ending tasks, in the toil of routine, He has given us so much beauty in these
“small” days. My mind may not remember the big events of 2017, but my heart
will certainly remember its sweetness.
Merry Christmas,
The Browns
