In the quiet

This year Vava bought an elf on the shelf. And mostly I've been remembering to move it and make it do silly things for the kids' delight, but some nights Sam asks if he can make the magic, and some nights Vava wants to.

I kind of love this for them.

Not only do they have the pleasure of the elf, but they get to participate in it too. They get to give some effort and time for their little brothers' joy.

It makes my heart so glad.

Elf in a fishbowl - er, in a pineapple under the sea!

And it's gotten them in the habit of coming downstairs after bedtime to prowl around in the quiet. Unlike the daytime, when they're busy with games or projects or playing with the neighbourhood kids, after bedtime they just want to talk. (Listening to their thoughts and stories puts me in mind of Mrs. Darling from Peter Pan, who came into the nursery at night to tidy the children's minds.)

Tonight Vava made a Spongebob Squarepants scene, an hour after she was supposed to be in bed. She bounced around with markers and scissors while I worked, planning with glee, imagining the boys' reaction when they come downstairs tomorrow morning.  I took her picture and gave her a kiss and tried to reflect her zazzly joy back to her. She was walking on air. It was beautiful.

When she finally went back upstairs for the night (for real this time), Sam came downstairs and asked if he could just sit quietly with me while I finished my news articles. I said yes, and we sat in keyboard-clicky silence for a few minutes. After a while, he put his hand over his eyes and told me he was feeling so sad. "Let it out," I said gently, "let all the feelings just wash over you. Don't try to hold them back." (Sam is not a crier or a yeller - he's a pretty contained dude, laughing at Vava and me as we ricochet from glee to sorrow and back again.)

Big tears rolled down his cheeks, still silently, and after a few minutes he told me he had just finished reading Maus again. Ahh, WWII. Whose heart wouldn't break? "It just made me so so sad that they died," he whispered. 

"It is so so sad. Yes. And so right to feel all those feelings," I whispered back, "when you let yourself feel them instead of stuffing them down or closing you mind off, they'll wash clean and you'll be healthier for it. If you ignore them or pretend it's not happening, they'll get stuck." And then he told me he wanted me to tuck him in so he could have a good cry while he fell asleep.

You. Guys.

That moment was so rare. Sam does not want to talk about his feelings ever - he is so even-keeled that I think he barely perceives the fluctuation from one feeling to the next. So having a chance to talk with him and give him a bit of advice in the quiet that I think will help him be an emotionally healthier person? Pure gold.

I love these late-night moments. I love the connection, the just-them-ness, the unspectacular glory of seeing their hearts a little more intimately than I see them during the day.

Christmas is good for that. 

For staying up a little later without the pressure of school the next day.

For planning joy and expanding freedom.

For hearing each others' hearts beating a little more clearly.

For holding each others' happiness and sadness with intention. Yeah.

 

Wishing you beautiful moments of silver and gold this Christmas, my friends.

God bless you.
xo.