It’s funny, I’ve been trying to remember a certain tea I used to drink back when I was working the evening shift at Hastings. I finally remembered when we got to Emmy’s ballet recital and I realized the title of the Ballet was Comfort and Joy, which just so happens, was the name of my tea.
And what a magical experience that was for me. It always is, but the Christmas recital always gets me extra in the feels. I cried during the dress rehearsal, the Thursday night show, and the Saturday Matinee. Of course, I love to seeing my Emmy dance during her part. I got all the regular Mama pride prickles on my arms. She has slowly transformed from the sweet baby in Fairytale dance into a little ballerina learning technique and grace. Still sparkles though, always sparkles.
I feel like it sounds silly, but it goes so much deeper than that for me. Sometimes I can’t breathe in December. I love it. But there is just SO MUCH. And I want to do it all. On top of all the extra curriculars of my grade schoolers, Matt’s shift work, and just HAVING four kids, there’s all the holiday stuff as well. I don’t get lost in the presents, but I do get lost in the gingerbread houses, the tales of Wizard Elf and Snow Flower, my Christmas tree, and the smell of cinnamon. And I’ll still find myself wanting more…baking, advent calendars, the live nativity, watching all the holiday movies, reading all the holiday books, sending Christmas cards, having friend dinners.
I’ve gone through whole Christmas Seasons and not thought one time of Jesus. Not once. Or maybe just once. Not nearly enough. It’s because I haven’t carved out any time to be still. And when the stillness does come, so does sleep.
I sat in the quiet dark three times this week, and as I said, cried each time. I wish you guys could see it. It was so beautiful. These kids, who I know not one other than my Emmy, personally, I feel like I’ve watched them over the last four years grow and grow and grow into the dancers they are this year. And not just the girls in Emmy’s group, but the older ones as well. It’s seeing them practice during the dress rehearsal and seeing them nail it at the performance. It’s seeing the teacher off the side of the stage watching it all being completed on stage…I mean, how is she not bawling?!
All, it’s the music, too. It’s the movements put to words and music.
It’s actually HEARING the words.
Rejoice. Bethlehem. Faithful.
Go Tell it on the Mountain. Jesus. Christ. Is. Born.
I caught myself.
It’s a feeling that rises up inside of you. Exhilarating, like a mix between when your stomach catches on the down trail of a roller coaster and the warm coziness of an epidural (which I did so accurately describe when I was in labor with Brendan as, cozy like Christmas). It’s a feeling that every time I’ve felt it before I think—How can it all not be true? As an overthinker who is unsure of most things, it is a feeling that makes me the surest I’ve ever felt. ‘
It’s like when you hear of people crying during yoga or meditation. A release. That’s what it was for me. I don’t know where it all came from. I’m guessing somewhere deep inside that was being smashed down by gingerbread houses and elves and Christmas trees and cinnamon.
In a world that has us literally and figuratively all over the place, thank you Miss Nicole, for providing me with some pieces of still time and the comfort and joy I needed this December.
It’s period week, but I still mean all of it.
AND DON’T EVEN TELL ME IT’S THE HORMONES ‘CAUSE I’LL CUT YOU.