Why I'm taking it easy this Christmas (and eating store-bought cookies)

From today's Briefing:

My Katie is spending half of Christmas Eve at church.

It's entirely appropriate, of course, and I'm thankful that she's eager to share her talent and time with our community.
I will also be spending half of Sunday at church, though in a less participatory manner. I'll be in the pews for every one of her three dramatic portrayals of a shepherd who's journeyed from the fields to the manger in Bethlehem. I'll settle in again late that night, when she joins the youth choir to sing at the final candlelight service.

Our day will be different than most other Christmas Eves, when we cheerfully fit in dinner and stockings at the grandparents' house. It's a lovely tradition that we started two decades ago and has been broken only by severe illness or inclement weather (I'm looking at you, 2009).

But the grandparents are singing at two services (alas, different ones than Katie's four), and there was no way to schedule one more event and maintain some semblance of peace on earth.

Christmas, of all the holidays, has the greatest potential for high expectations and, sometimes, deep disappointments.
We're fraught with the memories of Christmases past and the potential of Christmases future. We want the food to be special, the gifts to be appreciated and traditions to be continued. We want snow, but not so much that it impedes our travel. We want photos that reflect the magic and joy and meaning of the day. We want all the buildup, from Thanksgiving until Dec. 25, to be worth the effort.

We are often so focused on making every single moment as special as possible that we sometimes forget to leave space for unexpected surprises. Sometimes, we even forget to reflect on what makes the moments special.

Our church's family worship services will include manger scenes re-created by children in simple costumes. There's bound to be a wayward wise man or a Joseph who flees the scene. (A child's service that goes off without a hitch just feels inauthentic.)

Katie's role is to tell the birth story from the point of view of one of the shepherds mentioned in the Book of Luke. To write her monologue, she read and reread the verses. Then we imagined what life was like for a shepherd at night, how familiar he would be with the constellations, how he would immediately notice a new star, how frightened he would be in the presence of angels.

When Katie speaks in front of members of our congregation, she's going to express how torn one of those shepherds might feel after finally reaching Bethlehem, finding the baby in the manger and being told to leave to spread the good news.

All that work to reach a destination, to witness a miracle and then turn around and go home?

It's easy to feel the same way about our modern Christmas experience.

I'm constantly seeking balance, trying to prune some of the work out of the journey while trying to enjoy the experience a little longer.

This year that means no Christmas cookies baked in the Damm kitchen (store-bought have been sustaining us this season). That means packages under the tree are wrapped but not elaborately decorated. That means that we will spend Christmas Day with the grandparents, focusing not on the time we missed the night before but the time we have right now.

And as I sit in four worship services Sunday, I'll be focused on the destination, not anxious to rush off to the next event, instead eager to bask in the majesty of the story and the truth in the music and the mild chaos in the manger.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com

The up-and-down emotions of having a new teen driver

From Saturday's Briefing:

Way back in 2001, when one of the delivery room nurses placed my firstborn child in my arms, I felt the sense of relief and joy and love that overwhelms new mommas.

I cried a little because I was in pain and because I was slightly scared and because I was holding in my arms a tiny human who would totally depend on me and his daddy for every possible need.

Tears returned as we journeyed home, Steve driving north on Interstate 35E and me in the backseat, alternating my gaze between infant Cooper and the traffic that surrounded us.

Our little trio was out in the world for the first time, and I instantly understood the ubiquitous "Baby on Board" signs mocked by many. In that moment, I would have welcomed flashing yellow lights and a giant billboard atop the Passat, proclaiming "Brand-New Human on Board."

Parenting ever since has been an unpredictable journey marked by relief, joy, love, pain and fear, usually all at once.

This week brought one of the biggest milestones in the path so far. Cooper is now a licensed driver, with a used car that offers him newfound freedom. I'm happy for him and proud of him, of course, and I kind of want to drape his sensible four-door sedan in flashing yellow lights, topped with a giant billboard proclaiming "Brand-New Driver on Board."

As usual, many of my parenting worries aren't actually related to my children's choices. Instead, I'm concerned about the people around them.

I've got no control over the people who drive too fast on our street, when little ones are on scooters or drawing with sidewalk chalk or playing hide-and-seek on the block.

I can't force drivers at the four-way stop look up and pay attention to children walking across the busy intersection that separates our neighborhood from our schools.

I can do nothing about the folks out there who switch lanes without signaling or speed up when they should slow down or turn right on red without really looking.

So I'm facing this milestone like all the others. I'm praying that all the preparation plus all of his common sense will help guide him through tricky situations. I'm hoping that he keeps his cellphone in the glove box, that he chooses reason over risk, that he remembers no class schedule or appointment is worth skating through a yellow light.

With time, and a whole lot of deep calming breaths, I expect that I'll start to enjoy a little freedom, too. Cooper can now get himself to pre-dawn practices for band and cross country. He can drive to and from Sunday afternoon Boy Scout meetings and Wednesday night youth group.

I reserve the right, though, to chauffeur every now and then. I enjoy his stories from the classroom and his perspective on current events. I want to hear about the younger Scouts who act silly and the most recent lesson at church.

Those moments between destinations are often the most meaningful of the journey.

We're just a year and a half from another big milestone — high school graduation followed by college plans — and I'm starting to hoard the moments we have left. Because the thought sending my 6-foot-4 baby out into the world, far from home, overwhelms me with relief, joy, love, pain and fear, all at once.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Farewell, Big Guy

Our one-and-only Santa passed away yesterday. We are one of thousands of heartbroken families, and we are praying for the Big Guy's own family. I wrote about him for Briefing back in 2008, when he made the move from Frisco to Allen (and then eventually Fairview).


The true Santa has moved, and we are following him

TYRA DAMM
Publication Date: November 20, 2008  Page: 2  Section: YOUR DAY  Zone: STATE Edition: BRIEFING 

There is one Santa Claus. Since the turn of this century, he's been spending the weeks before Christmas in Frisco, charming thousands of children and their parents.

You know him. He's tall, with flowing white hair, matching beard, twinkling eyes and, of course, a rotund tummy.

He's casual, this one true Santa. He wears his workshop clothes - red velvet pants, suspenders and whimsical printed shirts - when he greets the masses. (He probably saves his formal red and white suit for the big night.)

He is kind but not saccharin. He never makes promises he and his helpers can't keep. He's the perfect mix of wisdom and mild mischief.

For eight years he held court at Stonebriar Centre. This year, Santa is headed east. Ten miles east to the Village at Allen, a new outdoor shopping center.

This is big news to all us parents who cherish visits and photos with the real Santa.

During December our mantel is crowded with photos of the Big Guy with our children from every Christmas season of their lives.

In one glance you can watch Cooper grow from a chunky baby to a lanky boy, his transformation even more apparent when captured sitting on the same dear Santa's lap, year after year. In every one of those photos, our now 7-year-old boy is smiling.

Katie's photos are a study in emotional range. Ecstatic. Angered. Terrified.

Part of the fun of the visit is anticipating and watching her reaction.

There's definitely been a big reaction to Santa's move to an oversized strip center in Allen.

Two friends called me separately last weekend to break the news. "You're not going to like this," one said, "our Santa is gone." (Why any mall is pushing Santa on us two weeks before Thanksgiving is another issue entirely.)

In the true Santa's place is one of his ubiquitous helpers. Santa is magical, but he can't be everywhere. The jewel-toned background and props are the same, but the man is definitely different. Shorter (not elfin, but certainly not tall enough to guide reindeer on a worldwide Christmas Eve flight). Less hair. Not as twinkly. Poor guy - he has a tough act to follow.

An online Frisco chat room has been abuzz for days, with many posters planning to leave the Stonebriar substitute behind in favor of our old favorite.

During Katie's tumbling class, the other moms and I talked about our options. The true Santa loyalists declared allegiance. We plan to cross Central Expressway and stand in line outside to pay respects to Santa in his new digs.

On Monday, Katie and I checked out the Allen space. Construction workers and landscapers scurried about, turning the middle of a parking lot into a spacious pavilion. By Saturday night, Santa's December workspace should be ready.

Santa is scheduled to arrive from the north in time to light a 35-foot Christmas tree. He'll hang around from 8 to 9 p.m. for visits and photos and return Sunday for a full shift. He'll work every day, excluding Thanksgiving, through Dec. 24.

Some days he'll have Donner and Blitzen with him. He couldn't do that when sitting in the middle of the mall.

He'll sit through whatever weather North Texas dishes out. I'm guessing he's hoping for somewhat cool temperatures, albeit warmer than his hometown climate.

In his old Frisco days, he often fanned himself between visits, though he never let discomfort affect his Christmas spirit.

We don't know how much longer Cooper will believe in the real Santa. And Katie has at least three or four more Santa-related emotions to explore in the coming years.

So as long as we can, we'll happily trek across the county and wait with the other true believers for another brush with Santa's magic.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. E-mail her at tyradamm@gmail.com.