A week without planning before the calendar fills up

From today's Briefing:

I’m a native Texan who has often coveted four distinct seasons, the kind from storybooks. Where spring means daffodils and quiet rain, summer means pleasant backyard dinners, fall means brilliantly colored leaves that drop into piles perfect for leaping, and winter means soft snow for building snowmen and forts.

Instead, we get tornado warnings and suffocating heat and difficult-to-predict conditions for Halloween costumes and the occasional ice storm that shuts down a five-county area.

As long as I’m in Texas, I’ll miss out on idyllic, picture-perfect seasons — and continue to seek contentment with what we do have.

Besides, it’s not the weather that dictates the rhythm of the year in our house. Rather, the rhythm is decided by calendars related to school and Scouts, soccer and basketball, church and PTA.

For example, we’re about to enter the season of standardized testing. This year Cooper will take math on March 27, reading on March 28 and science on April 27. It’s never advisable to miss school unless you’re actually ill, but from now until tests (this year called STAAR) are over, classroom time is especially crucial.

At the same time, we’re entering an intense Cub Scout season: winter campout, Pinewood Derby (and all the prep that comes with it), food drive, race to complete advancements and finally the Blue and Gold Banquet in mid-February, at which Cooper will bridge to Boy Scouts.

Earlier that same day, he’ll play his first soccer game of the spring season. (Calling it “spring season” is cruel for those first few weeks, when the last of winter’s winds howl across elevated, treeless fields.)

Before all of those seasons begin, though, we’ve been enjoying the gift of this week — the quiet lull after the nonstop activity of Thanksgiving giving way to four weeks of Christmas.

In years past, I didn’t fully embrace the laziness that this week can offer. We usually fit in a museum visit or two. We might head to Fort Worth for some Cowtown culture. Rarely is there a day without a plan, without a reason to wake up with an alarm clock.

This year, though, I was worn out before the first Sunday in Advent. I didn’t want to deny Cooper and Katie the social fun of the season; I also didn’t want to collapse before Santa could visit.

My compromise: a plan to be free from plans for one week, to keep the days between Dec. 25 and Jan. 1 free from obligation (except work). This week we’ve stayed up late, slept late, read books, put together Lego sets, played with American Girl dolls, watched movies at home.

When a friend called to ask if we could meet for lunch, I was able to say yes. Our calendar was wide open.

When another friend emailed with an invitation to bring the kids over to play with new toys, I was able to say yes.

I don’t feel ragged or rushed. I may even start 2012 feeling refreshed.

This season of leisure may be short-lived, but the week is a welcome respite after a full holiday season and before a whole bunch of new seasons.

You might even call it idyllic.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Sensitive soul

On Christmas Eve, we attended the 7 p.m. candlelight service then drove to Jim and Betty's for dinner and stockings.

As we drove west on Frankford Road through Carrollton and Far North Dallas to get to the Tollway, Cooper spotted someone walking in the cold, damp night.

Cooper's small voice from the backseat: "Mommy, I just saw a homeless man walking down the road. He was wearing a Santa hat."

And then Cooper began to cry.

I offered to turn around to find the man so that we could give him money. Cooper said no as he continued to cry.

I tried to assure him that most likely the man in the Santa hat wasn't homeless. He was probably without a car and walking to a nearby store.

"Oh, I hope so," Cooper said.

Me, too.

"And the king will answer them, 

'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these 

who are members of my family, you did it to me.' " 

(Matthew 25:40)

Apples to Apples

Cooper and Katie received the game Apples to Apples from Aunt Ginny. After lunch and dessert (including traditional British Christmas crackers, encasing fortune-telling fish, candy and paper crowns) today, all six Damms gathered at the kitchen table to play.

It was a fight to the finish; Papa won, with Uncle Jim, Cooper and Grandma all close behind.

The victor during play

Katie and I formed a formidable team.

Grandma suggests that future games allow for some card-culling on account of some not-exactly-family-friendly phrases.

Uncle Jim was one card away from beating his dad.

O Christmas Tree

Cooper and Katie have had a surprise in the works for a few days. I was instructed not to go in Cooper's closet. And to not wake up too early Christmas morning.

All was revealed this morning: They had designed and built a Christmas tree using pieces from their Straws and Connectors set (one of the most-used toys ever purchased in the Damm house -- off and on for five years).

The idea was Katie's. The design required a lot of trial and error. Cooper developed the final design, based on Katie's requirements that it be tall and green and shaped like a Christmas tree. And that it have yellow lights (the connectors) and a yellow star on top.

Little Red Charlie: Dec. 25

Little Red was gone this morning. We found this note, next to a half-eaten cookie left for Santa. (We also left three marshmallows for LRC. There was no trace of them this morning.)

The text, in case you can't read the photo:

Dear Cooper & Katie,

Merry Christmas!

I sure love you both. Let me tell you, I hear a lot of stories from other elves, and it is totally true that you two are at the top of the list for kind and compassionate behavior.

I am proud of how much you help your mommy around the house! I am impressed by your hard work on homework and reading! Cooper, your piano playing gets better every week. Katie, your practice on cartwheels and dribbling is really paying off.

Thank you for giving me a good home for the third year in a row. It’s tough to say goodbye after such a fun month with your family. I’m thankful that I get to return next year!

Before church tonight (special Christmas Eve photo at Steve's bench)

Little Red Charlie: Dec. 24

Can you spy Little Red Charlie? He's spending Christmas Eve in Steve's stocking. (Steve and Little Red never met. Little Red came to the Damm family just after Steve died. No doubt, though, that Steve would have appreciated LRC's spirit and humor and slightly mischievous ways.)

Little Red is perfectly positioned to greet Santa tonight and then hitch a ride on his sleigh for an adventurous journey back to the North Pole.

He's already curious about what next year will bring, when he's visiting the Damm house with a middle-school Cooper and second-grade Katie. He's certain they'll each be a couple of inches taller and a little wiser and filled with even more love and laughter.

Merry Christmas!

Constant surprise is the best gift of parenting

From today's Briefing:

When you’re little and it’s a couple of days from Christmas, the anticipation of what’s to come after Santa visits is almost too much to bear.

You’ve studied the catalogs and circled options. You’ve compared notes with friends. You’ve written a list. You’ve counted the number of sleeps until the big day.

Then you wake up Dec. 25 and rush out of your room to discover the gifts.

And then it’s over.

If it’s the right gift, it’s not really over, of course. You can build with it or play with it or create with it over and over. But you get only that one shot to be surprised.

I’m learning that one of the best gifts of parenting is the constant factor of surprise. Admittedly, not all of the surprises are as welcome as Christmas morning, but the joyful surprises definitely outnumber the lousy ones.

Parenting surprises are often truly unanticipated, stunning even. There’s no countdown to the exact moment your child takes unassisted steps. Or says “thank you” without being prompted. Or independently sounds out and reads a road sign from the backseat of the car.

My 10-year-old son has had his share of school-related struggles. Cooper’s a big-picture, big-idea kind of guy, so he has to work extra hard on tasks requiring precise attention to detail.

He has dysgraphia, making writing a particularly laborious and frustrating chore. On top of that, we learned a year ago that despite his love for reading, he had been obliviously coping with and compensating for dyslexia.

Cooper doesn’t let these challenges define him, though. He’s learning to break big tasks into manageable chunks. He misses regular class work every day to meet with our public school’s excellent dyslexia specialist. He has to study spelling words with more tenacity than many of his peers, and yet he hasn’t made less than an A on a spelling test in months.

Cooper, like fifth-graders all over the country, is learning American history this school year. Every few weeks, he’s tested on a group of states, their capitals and their location.

For his first test, we studied at home every night for a week. I quizzed him randomly (“Coop, it’s time to wash up for dinner. But first, what’s the capital of Delaware?”) and gave him blank maps to be filled in.

By the Thursday before the test, Cooper was, without question, ready. I wasn’t surprised when he came home with a big ol’ 100.

A few weeks passed. Then Cooper’s social studies teacher sent an email with a list of reminders, including notice of a cumulative states test the very next day. Somehow I overlooked previous notes about the test, this one on the first 11 states he studied, plus an additional 12 southeastern states.

I admit that I panicked.

When Cooper came home that day, I asked why he hadn’t told me about the upcoming test.

“I’ve been studying in class,” he said with casual confidence. “I’m ready.”

I was skeptical but reluctantly let it go. I didn’t mention Kentucky or Arkansas or any other U.S. state the rest of the night.

When Cooper came home the next day, his first words were, “I made a 100.” He earned that perfect score all by himself. He proved that he’s managing his time better, that he’s more capable of knowing when he does and doesn’t need help.

What a welcome gift for this momma who worries more than she should — and looks forward to the next random surprise worth celebrating.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Little Red Charlie: Dec. 23

Little Red is starting to feel nostalgic. In a couple of days he'll be gone, back to the North Pole for 11 months (though he's angling for a beach vacation sometime in there). He's going to miss the Damm house and all its activity. Today he's nestled next to Santa photos: 3-and-half-year-old Katie from 2008 and 3-and-a-half-year-old Cooper from 2004. And he's perfectly positioned to see all the cooking that's going on today. Mom's already made a batch of cranberry sauce (the kind that glops out of the can is icky). LRC is hoping that one of today's recipes calls for marshmallows.

Little Red Charlie: Dec. 22

This morning we found LRC at the base of our tabletop Christmas tree. He's surrounded by special ornaments -- including a carriage from Mackinac Island (2007 visit), macaroni angel handmade by Tyra's mom, a photo of Steve, Tyra, Cooper & baby Katie, the White House (2000 visit), an angel in remembrance of Steve. They are all sweet reminders of special moments and the love that binds us and makes us strong.