The day-after roundup
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Alternative title: "The Preacher Wore Gauchos"
The wrapping paper is more or less thrown away, (I'm sure I'll find little bits here and there for days) the leftovers are safely tucked away in the fridge, although I won't have to cook for awhile, while we nosh on them, and I'm off for the whole freakin' week! Yay for me!
My first back-to-back Christmas Eve on Saturday/Christmas Day on Sunday combo was less traumatic, more joyful than I anticipated. The freezing rain/sleet that was predicted held off, so we had a very full house on Saturday. I learned an important lesson: If I'm going to tell everybody that the Christmas Eve service is appropriate for all ages, and I'm even going to put that information on the church answering machine, I'd better be in top voice to be loud enough to be heard over screaming children. Some of those kids did not want to be there. And they didn't want to be there LOUDLY. Note to self: find some helpful, encouraging way to let parents know that it's really okay to leave the pew and walk them out in the hallway for a few minutes until the racking sobs subside.
What I did instead was remark how the sounds we were hearing that evening must have been similar to the sounds in the stable on the very first Christmas Eve, what with the sounds of birth, the baby, the creatures, and all. I did this because there were more than a few people who would look over at the noisy families with a pissed-off look on their faces. I also reminded the congregation that there are many churches in which the sounds of small children are no longer heard: "Aren't we blessed?" I mean, it was *loud* in there. I couldn't just ignore it. So I tried to make it a good thing, which it really is anyway.
After worship on Saturday night, my little family made another holiday memory. Each year, it seems we do something that "marks" the holiday for us. This year it was a driving tour through the light display at a local hotel complex. This large hotel near our home has a rather famous (infamous) light display that they spend weeks preparing. There is a paved road and these little fake houses that are installed year-round, just so they can do the Holiday Lane for three weeks during the holidays. Since its also on the property that borders Hookey Dookey Heath Club, I had seen the workers stringing up lights, so I was curious about it, and we decided to drive through on Christmas Eve.
Only when we got there, we discovered that it cost $15 to drive through, so we had to get out of line, hang a u-turn to see if any of us had enough money. We scraped together the $15 and decided to go for it. I don't think I can adequately describe how over the top corny this display was. My kids have a very quirky sense of humor, and this display cried out for a comedy routine, which my kids obliged. The display ends with a tunnel of moving lights, which my son remarked was rather like the "scary-ass candy tunnel from Willy Wonka" (the original). That of course prompted all four of us to sing the song, "There's no easy way of knowing..." Good times...
In the car on the way to church the next morning, OEH, WG and I were taking bets on the number of people that would be in church. I guessed 18, a number which I felt was optimistic enough, since everybody and their uncle had told me the night before that they had Somewhere Better to be the next morning. As if I wanted or needed to be told that Aunt Gertrude outranks God. Whatever.
I'm happy to say that we had 36 in worship. About the same number as an average summer Sunday when 2/3 of the congregation has gone to their summer homes so they can "worship God in the bass boat". There were 2 babies. They laughed and cooed, and nobody frowned or shot hateful looks across the sanctuary. In keeping with the "casual" theme of the day, I wore gauchos--that's the closest I will ever come to wearing pants on a Sunday. Granted, I wore them with my swanky suede knee-high, high-heeled boots, but still. Pants in church. What will I think of next? Of course, not a single person noticed. Nor did they notice my bright Red-Tent Red nails. Or the tiny little snowflake charm on my left pinky nail. Or my festive red crystal earrings. My big once-a-year swerve from pastorly-neutral polish, simple post earings, and a tasteful skirt and shoe combo, and nobody batted an eye. Hmph. Whatever.
Still, it was a good day.
The wrapping paper is more or less thrown away, (I'm sure I'll find little bits here and there for days) the leftovers are safely tucked away in the fridge, although I won't have to cook for awhile, while we nosh on them, and I'm off for the whole freakin' week! Yay for me!
My first back-to-back Christmas Eve on Saturday/Christmas Day on Sunday combo was less traumatic, more joyful than I anticipated. The freezing rain/sleet that was predicted held off, so we had a very full house on Saturday. I learned an important lesson: If I'm going to tell everybody that the Christmas Eve service is appropriate for all ages, and I'm even going to put that information on the church answering machine, I'd better be in top voice to be loud enough to be heard over screaming children. Some of those kids did not want to be there. And they didn't want to be there LOUDLY. Note to self: find some helpful, encouraging way to let parents know that it's really okay to leave the pew and walk them out in the hallway for a few minutes until the racking sobs subside.
What I did instead was remark how the sounds we were hearing that evening must have been similar to the sounds in the stable on the very first Christmas Eve, what with the sounds of birth, the baby, the creatures, and all. I did this because there were more than a few people who would look over at the noisy families with a pissed-off look on their faces. I also reminded the congregation that there are many churches in which the sounds of small children are no longer heard: "Aren't we blessed?" I mean, it was *loud* in there. I couldn't just ignore it. So I tried to make it a good thing, which it really is anyway.
After worship on Saturday night, my little family made another holiday memory. Each year, it seems we do something that "marks" the holiday for us. This year it was a driving tour through the light display at a local hotel complex. This large hotel near our home has a rather famous (infamous) light display that they spend weeks preparing. There is a paved road and these little fake houses that are installed year-round, just so they can do the Holiday Lane for three weeks during the holidays. Since its also on the property that borders Hookey Dookey Heath Club, I had seen the workers stringing up lights, so I was curious about it, and we decided to drive through on Christmas Eve.
Only when we got there, we discovered that it cost $15 to drive through, so we had to get out of line, hang a u-turn to see if any of us had enough money. We scraped together the $15 and decided to go for it. I don't think I can adequately describe how over the top corny this display was. My kids have a very quirky sense of humor, and this display cried out for a comedy routine, which my kids obliged. The display ends with a tunnel of moving lights, which my son remarked was rather like the "scary-ass candy tunnel from Willy Wonka" (the original). That of course prompted all four of us to sing the song, "There's no easy way of knowing..." Good times...
In the car on the way to church the next morning, OEH, WG and I were taking bets on the number of people that would be in church. I guessed 18, a number which I felt was optimistic enough, since everybody and their uncle had told me the night before that they had Somewhere Better to be the next morning. As if I wanted or needed to be told that Aunt Gertrude outranks God. Whatever.
I'm happy to say that we had 36 in worship. About the same number as an average summer Sunday when 2/3 of the congregation has gone to their summer homes so they can "worship God in the bass boat". There were 2 babies. They laughed and cooed, and nobody frowned or shot hateful looks across the sanctuary. In keeping with the "casual" theme of the day, I wore gauchos--that's the closest I will ever come to wearing pants on a Sunday. Granted, I wore them with my swanky suede knee-high, high-heeled boots, but still. Pants in church. What will I think of next? Of course, not a single person noticed. Nor did they notice my bright Red-Tent Red nails. Or the tiny little snowflake charm on my left pinky nail. Or my festive red crystal earrings. My big once-a-year swerve from pastorly-neutral polish, simple post earings, and a tasteful skirt and shoe combo, and nobody batted an eye. Hmph. Whatever.
Still, it was a good day.
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