December 19th

Yesterday, on the evening car ride, Snowdrop and I talked about God. It's a topic that comes up often enough at this time of the year. If you have read Like a Swallow, then you'll know my religious leanings. They haven't changed much since at 16 I attended a week-long Catholic camp in Poland (at the instigation of my then boyfriend). Nonetheless, I am not one to impose my own convictions on anyone near and dear to me. Even when the little girl and I talk about Santa (she has figured things out for herself by now), I leave the door open for her to imagine and take the story in whatever direction she wants. So, when God came up, I let her do the talking. She tells me -- you know, Sparrow thinks God is a girl. 

He does? 

Yes. Have you seen him draw God? God has a girl's hairstyle. (I've seen it -- God looks like Patty Duke out of the 50's.) I'm thinking -- maybe church-going people would be appalled. But maybe not? The boundaries between fantasy and fact can fluid in the retelling of things. I mean, Sparrow is playing a sheep in the reenactment of the Christmas story at his church. Snowdrop is more traditionally cast as an angel.

Kids and imagination! In make believe, the sky's the limit. When you grow up, you let go of so much that is pure fantasy. Is that a good thing? Well yes. Knowing what's fact and what's fiction is at the foundation of progress. And even so, we create our own realities. We pick and choose theories that suit our leanings. We do that, even though we know that it leads to division and it promotes distrust and, so often, hate. 

Ed and I frequently have this discussion: when should you be forthright with someone? He is probably the bluntest person I know and yes, there are people who cannot abide him for it, and he does not mind. He'll tell me it's better to say nothing than to heap on fake praise. Me, I don't push fantasy. I don't lie my way through life. Still, I tend to be very careful in what I do say to someone and I gauge their sensitivities, and sometimes I dont call it well, but I do prefer to steer in the direction of finding some good comment to put forth rather than pounding at someone with the truth as I see it. Ed often says that's not very helpful and industry would come to a grinding halt without the honest feedback it needs to move forward. And I admit it: I myself make decisions based on the negative commentary on the internet. I rely on them all the time! (Reviews of products, of books, of hotels -- all of it.) And still, I cannot add to this pool of negativity. I'll hold back with silence rather than tear apart something that I don't like. I admit it, I have never written a negative review. I'm just not cut out for it. I'm happy to stay with gentility. And I smile when one of the kids thinks God is a girl and another believes that fairies do come out secretly, sometimes, and make things happen when you are sleeping. 

Morning. Cold.

Breakfast: we talk about the virtues of being blunt.

And then I go grocery shopping. (This follows an earlier trip to the bakery: note the croissant.) I spend too much time on it once again. I cut it down to a 2.5 hour project, but still, it's too long! I suppose I'm still in awe of all that choice. It's as if I lived with only computer images of foods. Seeing rows upon rows of fruits on a cold December day felt, well, transformative!

In the afternoon I pick up the two kids. 

We spend a lot of time talking about taking turns. With some resolution to the perplexing problem of what to do when two people want to speak up at the same time. A resolution that I predict will fall apart tomorrow as we confront the details: like, does a pause count as someone ending their story-telling from the day? Or -- if someone goes on too long, is it fair to interrupt them?

(it's too cold without your jacket, Snowdrop! Go inside!)

(earlier drop off today -- just at sunset -- because the girl has Girl Scouts)

Later: I make soup. I have to. I need a meal that will last for many days and that will feel warming. Soup on a cold December night. Bliss...