Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town: An Essay

“Come out!”

“Come out of your houses!”

A muffled voice over the loud speaker immediately grabs my attention, as I race to the dining room window to see what’s going on. I peek through the blinds, my heart pounding, as I look upon the snow-laden streets outside our apartment.

I’m scared, I think to myself, as my heart rate increases. It sounds like police shouting for someone.

I can’t make out where the sound is coming from.

My mind takes me back to a few years ago, in 2012, when Ken and I were living in the U-district in Seattle, labeled thus for its proximity to the University of Washington. I was home alone, listening to the news on the radio. I had just heard about a shooting a few blocks away from where we lived. Five people were shot at the little café I walked past on a daily basis.

“Stay inside your homes and call the police if you see the shooter,” continued the report.

The shooter was loose in the streets.

Lord, help me. Please keep us safe, I prayed, as I drew the blinds, locked and re-locked the doors – finishing with the deadbolt before jumping into bed, to hide under the covers, at which point I then called my older sister and texted friends. Ken was in class at the time.

What do I do if someone knocks at the door, God-forbid? I obsessed.

Not long after, I heard on the news that the shooter had been found downtown. The scene ended grimly.

That memory still haunts me. It’s been three and half years and we are now living in the quaint town of Pullman, in Eastern Washington. A 90-minute commute from Spokane, Pullman is home to Washington State University and a year-round population of 30,000. Not bad for a small town, but not giant either. Residents are welcoming and friendly, not in that creepy sort of way, but in a genuine, authentic sense. The town’s landscape is like an oasis of evergreen trees sandwiched among hundreds of miles of wheat fields dotted with charming red barns and rusted farm equipment. It’s idyllic, and homey, and the kind of place where you’d want to raise a family.

But when I heard that sound of yelling over the microphone the other night, I immediately expected the worst. My body went into lockdown-fight-or-flight-kickass-mom-mode, mentally preparing for some sort of shootout on the streets. 

Mind you, after living in Seattle for four years, where I experienced multiple run-ins with violent and mentally unstable people on the streets, Ken and I relocated to Anchorage, Alaska, hoping to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Wanting at best, a safe place to raise a family, where we could set down roots. It wasn’t until moving there that I found out that Anchorage is one of the most dangerous cities in the U.S., according to Forbes, with a crime rate that rivals any of the major cities where you’d expect that sort of thing. That surprised me.  

I’m reminded that you can’t really escape violence in any part of the world, these days. There’s so much pain, all around us.

Peering out into the dark winter night, I wondered, How could I protect my family if something bad were to happen? If someone bad was out there? In many ways, I feel an even greater burden and sense of longing for safety for my baby girl – a desire I never felt so strongly in the past – for the world around her to be a safe place.

“Come out! Come out of your houses!”

I instantly see a figure emerging from the darkness. A large truck towing a sleigh with a jolly ol’ Santa Claus, rounds our corner street.

“Ho-Ho-Ho! Merry Christmas!” He shouts.

I let out a long, nervous laugh.

And with that, my faith in humanity is restored.

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You better watch out

You better not cry

You better not pout

I’m telling you why

Santa Claus is comin’ to town

8 Months & 4 Teeth Later...

It happened. 

All of a sudden, baby girl up and turned 8 months old. My little baby, who seemed to have been born only a couple days ago (see birth story here), is now crawling (!!!), pulling herself up to a standing position on her own (!!), and trying to feed herself solid foods - on her own, of course! 

Ruby, how did you get so big? How did you grow up so fast? I ask her these questions on a daily basis. 

Baby girl is still wearing some 9-month clothing, but is mostly on to 12-month clothing now. As I glance over at my little girl, whose toes already seem to be outgrowing her newest 12-month size sleeper, she smiles knowingly, as if to say, "Yep, Mama. I'm a big girl." She's so tall for her age!

Just as the legendary song All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth goes, it seems as if Ruby has been working overtime (think: scattered sleep at night) to get her top two front teeth in. Her bottom two teeth are all the way in, and now their long-awaited counterparts have broken through. I think she's wanting to chew foods more like a big girl, as she practices using her teeth all the time now. 

Besides these exciting developments in Ruby's life, she's also become more and more conversational. I love it! I love hearing her trying to describe and understand the world around her. It's priceless. 

With that said, I better head out. Ruby is calling for milk in her native tongue. 

I'll leave you with some recent family pics. Have a great night!

O Christmas Tree: A Story About Holiday Traditions

Holiday traditions.

Those words conjure up memories of Christmas mornings as a child, excitedly awaiting any sign of movement from my sisters and parents, so that we could open presents together. A salty-buttery smell hangs in the air, as my Dad prepares eggs benedict in the kitchen. I can picture him standing over the stove, pulling a piping-hot sheet of perfectly-toasted English muffins out of the oven, while freshly-whisked hollandaise and hot poached eggs sit waiting. It was our holiday tradition to savor my Dad's eggs benedict every Christmas morning, before heading to my Grandma's house (conveniently located right next door) for Christmas lunch a few hours later, which always consisted of the same delectable pairing - lox and bagels. Straight-up New York-style bagels and cured salmon, which I imagine was similar to what my Grandma enjoyed growing up in the Bronx. This was a no-frills lunch, with simple condiments (onion slivers, capers, tomatoes, cream cheese) that I could count on every year. I found stability in those ritual meals we enjoyed together as a family every Christmas. When my Dad left, sometime around my 12th birthday, I couldn't help but grieve those holiday traditions, centered around food and family. They were such special memories.

In reflecting back on my childhood and what influenced me in positive as well as not so positive ways, I hope to develop meaningful holiday traditions that Ken and I can share with our kid(s) in the years ahead. I want to show Ruby the joy of shared experiences, and how to give generously and freely, without regard to whether a gift will be reciprocated. I also want to teach her compassion and how important it is to help other people, so that her world isn't centered on her own needs and desires.

I think it's tempting to want to do all sorts of 'special' things together as a family, especially around the holidays, but I want to create space where we can practice reaching out, rather than just inward. One such example comes to mind: When I was young, I remember how my mom took me to a couple of different places where we helped feed people in need. Families who were homeless, or down on their luck. We volunteered at a food bank once, and perhaps a church, and then an outreach center near the prison. In retrospect, I find that ironic since many times we could barely scrape enough money together to buy food for dinner each night. (We ate so much toast for meals/snacks, when we couldn't afford much else.) But my mother saw something that she could do - small ways that we as a family could reach outside of ourselves and help others, by serving platters of food, and took the opportunity to do so, when possible. Thank you for teaching me this valuable lesson, Mom. I think of those times, especially around the holidays. There are so many people in need, and I never want to turn a deaf ear to ways that I can help.

In sharing these stories, I noticed that the blog post I meant to write, about how we recently started what I hope is a new tradition, got sidelined. Without further ado, I introduce to you, our newest (hopeful) holiday tradition: the Christmas tree.

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Last Sunday morning, Ken, Ruby, and I headed out the door with our winter gear and a couple of cold ham sandwiches, and set out for the nearest hardware store. Our mission: to purchase a saw suitable for chopping down our very own Christmas tree, and to acquire the relevant $5 permit we needed to be able to take home that tree from the National Forest. We were successful in both those endeavors and after stopping for a quick coffee and nursing break in a neighboring town, we made our way northeast to the forest.

Despite the heavy rainfall, we enjoyed our drive through Eastern Washington's picturesque farmlands - the rolling hills of the Palouse, covered in wheat fields and dotted with red and gray barns, and found a real beauty of a tree: some sort of evergreen, simple, seemingly symmetrical, straight, and most importantly, not too tall, making it perfect for our current housing situation. Ruby was initially uncertain about the weather and the whole chopping-down-of-tree-thing, but once she realized that we were bringing the tree home, and then saw it in our house, I think that she warmed up to the idea.

Ken and I hope to continue this tradition in the coming years, as it makes for a great memory and doesn't cost much. This Christmas in particular, we are quite tight on funds, which has given us the unique opportunity to become even more creative in how we budget and spend our money.

It's safe to say that this experience was worth every penny, and more.

Here are some photos from our adventures!