A few weeks ago my son and I brought home from a local bookstore the Sweet Smell of Christmas by Patricia M. Scarry. It is a lovely book that tells the story of a family of bears who embrace their holiday traditions through the sweet smells of the season. It reminded me of this article that I began a few years ago about how the holidays are full of opportunities to engage our five senses. The smell of cinnamon and sugar, the vision of sparkling bright lights, the sounds of familiar holiday harmonies, the taste of peppermint and cocoa, and the warm embrace from a child whose eyes are filled with magic this time of year. The many senses of the season that often fill us with a sense of peace and nostalgia bringing a calming and welcoming effect to our homes enticing all five of our senses.
I find I’m most connected and aware my body’s five senses — smell, taste, touch, vision, and hearing — during the holidays. Over the years, I’ve also noticed it can be overwhelming sometimes. Walking into stores their scents can be powerful, their displays and decor pouring over their shelves can be obnoxious, as you try to tune out the boisterous jingling sounds that blast from their speakers. Walking through narrow aisles I might feel the abrupt nudging of elbows or shoulders as people pass me by, leaving me with the taste of stress that comes with clenching my teeth out of exasperation. It’s not always cheery, it’s not alway merry, and it can be overwhelming.
That’s when I start to lose the peace and the calm of the season. That’s when I feel most frustrated, exhausted, and frankly, through with the holidays, the traditions becoming less fulfilling and more taxing.
But I’ve also noticed what always seems to bring me back is the slow car drive home though my village, light displays shining through the dark nights. A quiet car ride with only one holiday jingle playing a familiar calming tune softly through my car speakers reminds me of a place that my family went every year throughout my adolescence and into my young adulthood. It is a place that has always evoked a sense of peace, love, joy, and hope. The most profound of those was hope. And I don’t think I ever realized how much until now.
In the front of the church in my hometown stood a tall tree covered with white lights, a large advent wreath, and several poinsettias — many donated in honor or memory of a loved one. There was the smell of candles burning and the perfume of a familiar face dressed up for the occasion. There was the sounds of vocalists I knew singing solos I looked forward to every year and a chorus made up of the congregation softly singing or humming the same tunes from the year before. Most of the service was filled with music, embraces of peace, and bright lights that lit up the darkness. We greeted each other with hugs and our hands touched as we wished each other peace. My other senses prompting my taste buds as I could begin to taste the prime rib I would enjoy at my family’s dinner that would follow. As the service wrapped up, the lights were turned off, the room became dark and candles, one by one, lit up the room as we all sang Silent Night. Peace, love, joy, and most profoundly, hope was abound in that room as one by one those candles lit up a room where one by one my family and friends stood together.
It is no surprise that as my children have gone from infants to toddlers to now school age, the most useful tool I’ve had at bedtime to help them relax and drift into sleep has been singing Silent Night. I sing it throughout the year, and it has a peaceful, calming effect on me that then is effortlessly passed to my kids. I was touched to hear that my sister sings the same tune to her kids at night throughout the year and I smiled when one evening outside of the holiday season, my son told me that my mom sang him holiday songs, including Silent Night, to go to sleep.
In that quiet church, my five senses were captivated and my heart filled with hope, in the simple traditions of the season, in the ordinary.
A few weeks ago a family member sent me a quote that reminded me again of the simplicity of the season. The quote was by William Martin, “Do not ask your children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem admirable, but it is the way of foolishness. Help them instead to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears. Show them how to cry when pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary will take care of itself.”
I found this quote especially important this holiday. With the intrusiveness of social media and commercialism, we can feel like there is so much extraordinary that we should be doing, especially with our kids. I found myself feeling that way earlier last week and it hit me hard. I was starting to realize that as one of the younger kids in his grade, my son might not believe in Santa next year. Older kids might begin to put doubt in his mind, he might overhear something on the bus or the playground and he may begin to question the magic of Santa next year. To my knowledge, he hasn’t yet this year. Feeling also that this pandemic has encompassed such a significant part of my kids childhood thus far, I felt the desire to hold tighter the magic of Santa this year. I’m not ready for him to not believe.
I started searching for activities that my family could do together to really embrace the magic of the season. I felt behind, I hadn’t planned anything yet so I began filling up our calendar.
But as I found myself standing outside in a crowd of people with long lines, the vision of lights in the distance faded by the crowd, a brief interaction to say a quick hello to Santa feeling to short to be magical, a cup of hot cocoa that was cold by the time I got to sip it, and a peppermint brownie I said no to because I was trying to order too quickly — I felt like I was flopping on bringing my kids the extraordinary. I couldn’t hear the carolers over the crowd and I was holding my kids tight for their safety in a crowd, not because I was holding their hands to embrace the moment. This wasn’t the magic of the season. My senses were overloaded. I didn’t feel peace, joy, or hope, and while I always love my kids unconditionally, it was a moment in parenting when we were all losing our patience. That love could have been better conveyed.
But then I remembered that quote that was sent me a few weeks ago. And I remembered a few years ago as I was reading about the importance of holiday traditions, I also read about the importance of keeping them simple. The importance of doing things that no matter our income or our allotment of time that year, were things we always could do.
When we got home from the hustle and bustle, my husband and I snuggled up with our children in our living room and with our tree sparkling, we turned on the Polar Express. Our boys’ faces filled with magic. My one year old stood bopping up and down dancing to the tunes as my husband and I sat in peace watching them. My older two nibbled on candy canes and we all sat captivated by the story as we enjoyed the familiar taste of our favorite hometown pizza place. That was the magic of Christmas, watching my oldest stare at Santa on that film. Within the four walls of our home was the magic of the season full of peace, love, joy, and profound hope.
Writing this article has reminded me to embrace the simple, to ensure the most profound memories I create for my children will continue to fill them with the magic of the season, to fill them with peace, love, joy, and hope long after they no longer believe in Santa.
Unpacking my decorations, I prioritize a select few and I let the rest sit waiting to be sorted through another time. One of my most cherished decorations is one I found a few years ago after a friend posted a photo of it. Sitting on my desk as I write is a tea light candle holder with a mouse sleeping next to a fireplace — a decoration that was less than ten dollars but the sight of which brings me back to the happy moments of my childhood at the holidays. It brings me back to the house I grew up in, the one that before we could open gifts my parents made us take a photo every year, and the infamous year when my brother wouldn’t stop pushing the button on my sister’s Buzz Light Year figurine so we could snap that photo. I can still hear the laughter from that Christmas morning and see the joy on my family’s faces. I prioritize that decoration and ones that my children find joy in, I don’t let the decor pour over our shelves at home.
I have prioritized our tree with white lights that reminds me of the tree in my hometown church. I sing or play Silent Night every day as my children move the candy cane on our calendar to countdown the days. Our advent wreath sits in the entry way waiting to be lit every Sunday as we sing the song I sang in my hometown church as we lit those candles so many years ago now.
Together we will bake a single batch of chocolate chip cookies with red and green M&M’s. We will dunk Oreos in chocolate and decorate them with sprinkles. And we will wait until out of town family arrives to assist us in the labor of love that is making sugar cookie cut outs with children and decorating them. My mom will decorate a gingerbread house with my kids and I will prepare and freeze our cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning on a single afternoon. I’ll buy my favorite but laborious Linzer cookies and we will make a lot of hot cocoa from packets. Our house will be filled with the sweet smells of the season without the hours of effort that can leave me drained.
I will buy soaps with the scents of pine and sugar cookies. I’ll play holiday music like Alvin and The Chipmunks that reminds me of my childhood and music from that beautiful sanctuary I visited every Christmas Eve from my adolescence. My kids will bring me their own music through songs that they hum and sing throughout the day while they play and work on puzzles.
The hope of the season is already very much present in our home, brought to life through our five senses that capture the extraordinariness of the ordinary — the taste of a candy cane, the vision of a pine lit with white lights, the calm melody of Silent Night, the sweet smell of cocoa, and the warm snuggles with a loved one. These are the memories and traditions my kids and my husband and I can find magic in year after year regardless of where we find ourselves, memories that don’t require us to go looking for hope — it’s already extraordinarily present in our ordinary.
As you go into this second week of December perhaps with a list of gifts not yet bought and wrapped, a home that is not yet full of decor, a calendar of events you have yet to attend, and a kitchen full of flour and sugar waiting to be used, consider putting to paper the things that you love and bring you hope this season — the simple and the ordinary.
While I hope you enjoy reading my posts, kindly be advised that the words in this article are not medical advice and I cannot guarantee that they will work for you or your family. They are my reflections on parenting my three boys, based on my own personal background and experiences. Always reach out to your own health professionals for any questions or concerns. Please read my full disclosure at the bottom of this site for more information. Very sincerely, Mamma P.
