I wrote down a lovely idea last week about celebrating Advent with my four darling children by committing to acts of service each day before we have our calendar chocolate. (No, no, that’s not sarcasm dripping, thank you very much.)
Nov. 30: I printed out the calendars of service and taped them to the back of each calendar. I hyped it up, “Tomorrow we are going to do something really special for advent!” Their eyes glowed in anticipation.
Dec. 1, day 1: I grin widely as I explain the new component to our chocolate advent calendars. I am not met with smiles. Noses are scrunching. Arms are crossing. Finally, Mem bursts out, “You mean we gotta work for ‘em? What is this?” Groans, muttering, and general discontent.
Everyone performs their service and gets their chocolate. Maybe it will pick up by tomorrow.
Dec. 2, day 2: A tiny bit less grumbling, and everyone gives their compliment, tells their joke, does their chore, etc. Then, in the middle of my third class, Memphis yells up the stairs, “Mom! Someone stole my advent chocolate for tomorrow!”
For Pete’s sake. It’s only day 2 and we’re already stealing chocolates from Jesus. I learned long ago not to interrogate—it does no good. Everyone looks at me with wide eyes that say “Not me!” I give a calm lecture about how we’re stealing the spirit of Christmas, and how it makes me sad that someone would steal Mem’s chocolate and then lie about it, and how I hope that someone will ‘fess up so I don’t have to put the calendars in the trash. (Because that is far better than stealing advent, right? I never claimed to be rational.)
A couple hours later, I came downstairs and heard the three older children’s voices coming from the downstairs closet. They were making a plan.
M: “I’ll just tell Mom I forgot that I ate it! That I opened the wrong day!”
C: “I didn’t eat mine.”
R: “It doesn’t matter, maybe you should eat it so we’re all even. I’m not telling her I did it.”
C: “Well, I didn’t eat mine.”
I walked away. I wanted to see their little drama play out. Sure enough, within the half hour, Memphis pipes up, “Mom, I realized that I think I just opened the wrong day. Maybe it was me on accident.”
I stare at this child that sat on my kidney for two months in utero. I keep a straight face.
“Hmmm…. An accidental eating, huh?” Cora and Ransom are gaping now, waiting to see if I will take the bait. “No, I don’t think so.” Memphis took a deep breath to begin her compelling argument, but I shut her down.
“I heard you all in the closet.”
Everyone bursts out at once: “Dude! You’re busted!”
“I didn’t eat mine, Momma.”
“What? You heard us! Argh!”
Someone got assigned a few extra acts of service, and advent is back on track. We even had a very nice poem read at dinner this week. Mercy, Christmas come.