Poor Baby Jesus. As an act of pure generosity and love, on Christmas morning he miraculously appeared, in the form of a tiny rubber doll, in the wooden manger under our Christmas tree. He looked so peaceful–so angelic–resting there on his bed of hay-colored yarn for about 5 minutes. Then Gabrielle discovered him and he has been “baby-handled” ever since.

“Jeeeeeeeesus!…. Baaaaaaaby!…..” she squealed as she snatched him from the manger. She quickly relieved him of his swaddling clothes and covered his tiny body with slobbery kisses. Since then, on various occasions, I have found the Divine Infant face-down and naked on the cold bathroom tiles, smothered beneath a pile of stuffed animal toys under the living room sofa, and in the dog’s water dish. I always rescue him and return him to the manger, but it’s never long before I discover him in some other compromising position.

Isn’t it just like Our Lord, though, to subject himself to innumerable indignities out of love for us? Didn’t he come to us as a tiny, helpless, human baby precisely for the purpose of suffering for our sins and earning us heaven? Despite her abusive actions, at least Gabrielle is trying to show Jesus some sincere affection. Our Lord comes to us in love, but most of us, even those of us who like to call ourselves Christian, fail to return that love in kind. Our human weakness, our sinfulness and selfishness prevent us from loving Christ as we should.

It’s still Christmas. If we have not yet done so, it’s not too late for us to rescue Our Lord from the dog dish and welcome him into our hearts with love.

There go our New Year’s Eve dinner plans and here come sleepless nights and loads of laundry. The Bean family has at last succumbed to its first official stomach virus of the season. Little Stephen awoke late this morning with a pasty complexion and immediately lay his tiny body down upon the wood floor.

“I am not good today,” he told me.

And he sure wasn’t. The juice he insisted upon having for breakfast was vomited back up a few moments later. After cleaning him up, I set him on the couch with a blanket, a pillow, and a stack of picture books. The rest of the family gathered around their fallen member and expressed a mix of sympathy and dread.

“Poor Stephen,” Eamon said. “Do you want me to read you a story?”

“Does this mean we are all going to get sick now?” Kateri wanted to know.

Ambrose is a forward thinker. “I’m gonna finish up my Christmas candy,” he said.

Ever the magnanimous one, my darling husband promptly reached for his coat and announced, “I’ll just go out and pick up some ginger ale and saltines.”

That was hours ago.

We live in a small house, so post-Christmas things have to get a little extreme around here. For example, yesterday was what I like to call “Black Bag Monday.” This means that I waited until the baby was down for her nap and then put on a LONG movie for the older kids. While they were mesmerized by the flickering screen, I tiptoed upstairs to their bedroom with a large box of black garbage bags. Then… I had no mercy.

If no one plays with it or hasn’t in a while, if it’s big, if it’s ugly, if it’s broken, if it’s plastic, if it’s missing pieces, if it smells bad, if I wasn’t sure what it was or if it was alive- OUT IT WENT. Even if great Auntie so-n-so just sent this “perfect” knick-knack for the kids last week, even if it is the only one of it’s kind, even if it might be popular again some day, even if it was fun or useful or nice once upon a time- OUT IT WENT.

The kids didn’t even notice me lugging the giant bags out to the trash or to the van for giving away. Afterwards, they surely didn’t miss the stuff that compiled the cluttered mess in their room, and now there is plenty of room for new Christmas toys that they actually will play with.

Oh and by the way, the same tough rules apply to grownup “stuff” around here too. I’m ruthless. I’m callous. I’m as un-sentimental as humanly possible. I make “stuff” earn a place in my home- if I don’t use it (and let’s be honest here), I get rid of it. I have been just plain cold-hearted about saving things for years now and never once have I found myself wanting or missing an item I tossed in a fit of de-cluttering. After all, it’s just stuff. Life just feels so good when you clear away the piles of clutter.

Sweet space and fresh air! Ahhhhh. Merry Christmas!

I finally have something in common with Jennifer Aniston. No, I did not receive anything Gucci or a chauffeur-driven limo for Christmas this year. But my 8 year old son Eamon got a digital camera from his godmother for Christmas and it’s been like living with the paparazzi ever since.

As I am pulling a load of laundry out of the dryer: FLASH!

As I am changing yet another really gross, ate-too-much-Christmas-candy diaper: FLASH!

As I wrestle Stephen up from the floor in the midst of a classic Christmas tantrum: FLASH!

All of this picture-taking has made me realize: Not all of our family moments are the kind I would choose to preserve for posterity. Real family life, even a happy one, is a real messy thing.

Some of my favorite old photos from my childhood, however, are the ones I took as an adolescent with a camera I got for Christmas. In these pictures, nobody is posing and nothing is staged. I never bothered to clear the mess off from a kitchen counter before snapping a photo of a younger brother or sister, and now I like to look at those pictures and remember what life in our home was really like, from the dirty glasses on the kitchen counter to the pile of school craft projects sitting next to them. I’m sure my mother would not care for the photo I have of her standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. I didn’t give her a chance to comb her hair or put on her camera-smile before I flashed, but it’s a real memory for me.

Early this morning, as I lay in bed with the baby, trying to gather enough courage to get up and make breakfast, I heard someone call my name. I opened my eyes and: FLASH! Eamon ran from the room laughing hysterically while I called after him: “Delete that now!”

And no, in case you are wondering, I do not plan to show him how to post his photos on the internet anytime soon.

In order to properly prepare for and observe the Christmas holiday, I will not be online for the next couple of days.

My heart-felt thanks to all of you who have sent Christmas greetings to my family and me. Time does not permit me to answer each of you personally, but please know that your prayers, kind words, and warm wishes are greatly appreciated. I pray that God will bless you all with an abundance of joy this Christmas season!

“Jesus is born!”

I always love to watch my children approach the nativity scene in our parish church at Midnight Mass. In hushed silence, with eyes open wide and curious, they draw near Our Lord–our God, our king, our Savior–a tiny baby boy who lies sleeping on a manger bed of straw. In the warm glow of lighted candles, their eyes glisten with a magical light as they take in the scene. Jesus is here!

This Christmas, may we all approach Our Lord in the manger with the similar sense of awe at the beauty and the goodness of God. Let us welcome Him with joy. Let us give thanks to God for His infinite mercy. Let us wonder at the undeserved gift of our salvation, sent to us in the form of the tiny Baby Jesus.

She wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
Luke 2:7

This Christmas, may Our Lord find ample room in our hearts.

It’s been a frigid few days up here in New Hampshire. We awoke to a blustery snowfall on Monday morning but, distracted by plans for Christmas, I didn’t think too much of it. I had planned to decorate the crab apple tree in our front yard with little red bows for Christmas, and so I put on my boots, grabbed a kitchen chair, and headed out.

With a captive audience of six little face in the living room window, I got to work. As I struggled to remove a bow from the package, a biting wind whisked the hood from my head and whipped through my hair. The icy blast stole my breath and snowflakes stung my cheeks as I fumbled to attach the first bow to a tree branch. Clearly, this was not going to be comfortable work.

Though my fingers ached in the cold, I persevered. Slowly. Several minutes and only two bows later, my fingers didn’t ache anymore. They were frozen numb. The wooden chair I had brought out to reach the high branches was covered with snow and looked too perilous for even this foolhardy woman to step on.

I gave up. With a gush of arctic air, I returned inside and slammed the door shut behind me. It was only once inside that I bothered to check the thermometer which read - 4 degrees. That’s right. Minus 4 degrees. This was not tree decorating weather.

Later that afternoon, as I sat on the cozy couch with a cuddly toddler in my lap, I thought of my partly decorated tree. I smiled at the memory of my foolishness, listened to the wind blowing outside, and thanked God for our snug little house and the warm little bodies He’s given us to share it with.

One of the things I most enjoy about homeschooling is that we can arrange our daily schedule in order to accommodate other things that are going on in our lives. This morning, for instance, we are getting just the basics done–math, language, and reading, and then we are doing our “getting ready for Christmas” lesson which involves cleaning the house, baking cookies, and making fudge.

I used to be afraid of making fudge, mostly because I had failed so miserably at it so many times. I have tried a number of recipes and in the past and my results have varied from fudge that wouldn’t set, to fudge that was grainy, and fudge that you had to cut with a chainsaw. Not very merry.

Ultimately, however, I fell back upon the chocolate fudge recipe my mother taught me to use when I was a girl: “Never Fail Fudge.” The name says it all, and it is true–if you follow the simple directions, you can make this fudge and I promise you, you will not fail. No candy thermometer, no fancy ingredients, just easy yummy fudge. Even my husband can make it.

If you live in New England, you might recognize this recipe as the one using Marshmallow Fluff. Non-New Englanders can check out this miraculous New England staple food and get the Never-Fail recipe at the Marshmallow Fluff Website.

Now I’ve got to get back to the kitchen… Happy fudging!

Well, the tree went up on Saturday. We used to try to be more traditional and put up the Christmas tree just one or two days before Christmas. It took only a couple of crabby Christmas Eves, however, before Dan and I decided that a compromise was in order–there’s only so much activity two people can cram into a 24-hour period before they turn into Mr. and Mrs. Grinch.

But some traditions still stand. Like the “no-edible-or-breakable-ornaments-on-the-bottom-two-feet-of-the-tree” tradition, for instance. We Beans always seem to have a Christmas toddler scampering about the house. This year, it’s Gabrielle. She watched with wonder when Dan dragged the tree indoors, set it in the stand, and strung it with lights. Later, when she awoke from a nap, she was astonished to discover that we had covered the rest of the tree with some of her favorite foods. Candy canes, popcorn, berries, and gingerbread cookies all hung tantalizingly just beyond her reach.

“Isn’t it pretty?” we asked her, but then as she reached out to grab an ornament “Don’t touch!” we all gasped.

Only the dog seems to commiserate with the absurdity of her plight. To Gabrielle, we’re all lunatics. She might be right about that, but hey–it’s tradition!

“Stir up Thy might, we pray Thee, O Lord, and come; rescue us through Thy great strength so that salvation, which has been hindered by our sins, may be hastened by the grace of Thy gentle mercy. Who livest and reignest for ever and ever, Amen.”

Come, Lord Jesus! Come!