I'm Just Going To Leave This Right Here: The Getting-Through-The-Holidays Edition

I understand the holidays can be hard in a number of different ways. Some miss those who have passed away. Some associate the holidays with sadness or loneliness. Some look at their financial situation knowing a time of belt-tightening is near in order to make it through. Sometimes, a time of togetherness and love often turns sad and dark.

Even in the most enjoyable of holiday situations things can sometimes be fragile. Family members may secretly bicker about what food is being served at the big traditional family holiday celebration. That one lone wolf friend may suddenly obsess over slights from decades earlier. Some may be disappointed in gifts received or the lack of thankfulness offered or not offered in return when they give a gift. It is a thin line separating sanity from insanity when it comes to holiday get-togethers with family and friends.

Still, deep inside, I am an optimist. I believe at least some of the holidays should be filled with some happiness if possible and even if it’s is a fleeting thing. True, it may be hard to find a silver lining in some situations. And truer still, some people just love to bathe and wallow in misery. Still, I like to think if folks try, really try, then something can be found to make getting through the holidays a bit more enjoyable than not trying at all.

Maybe you are one of those struggling with making it through. Maybe the weight of finding the ‘just-right’ gift is weighing you down. Maybe the thought of having to eat more green bean casserole turns your stomach. Maybe the idea of just making it through to January has you down. If this is you let me try to help.

One of my favorite holiday things happened on an episode of a television show which aired October 30, 1978. Maybe because I spent time in both radio and television endears this specific episode to me. Having worked in that world sure makes it easier to understand how something like this can be dreamed up for a promotional event. So, if you are having a time getting into a good mood about the holiday season, just click the link below and receive your free turkey courtesy of our friends at "WKRP in Cincinnati". I’m just going to leave this right here in case you need it. And, be of good cheer, in the words of WKRP’s Jennifer Marlowe, “…a lot of turkeys don’t make it through Thanksgiving.”

Turkeys Away on YouTube

Just A Minute

As often as I ask our six-year-old “how many more times” I know that often she asks me questions where I sometimes provide the same pat answer, “just a minute”. I have caught myself saying that time after time over the last few months because at some point I realized how ridiculous the statement is when taken literally and when spoken so often that it loses its meaning. Still, when questioned my default reply is often that three word phrase.

And, really what does that phrase really mean? At its most basic level it often means I will get to what you need as soon as I can. Life though sometimes runs beyond the most basic level. I understand this because sometimes when I use that phrase it means I really am hoping you will forget what you asked and move on to something else.

Most times though the stone-cold reality is often that phrase is used because there are a dozen different things ongoing and the one thing that is requested just has to wait its turn. I suppose this is one way we learn patience. For our six-year-old daughter I hope that is the case.

All this often happens when we come home at the end of the day. We are lugging backpacks, lunch boxes, the mail, jackets and often rocks, toys, stickers, books and snacks collected somewhere along the way. Usually, no sooner as we step into our hallway I hear some request such as “can we watch TV” or “I’m hungry, can you get me something to eat” and my reply while juggling the forty-eleven things I have in my hands, tucked under my arms and balancing on my head will be “just a minute”. To me, such a request at such a time seems reasonable. After all, I need to set down the things we are carrying in and leave them in a place where they can be easily retrieved later before I do anything else.

Other times though a request might come through that doesn’t seem like a safe or smart thing on which to follow through. When I hear “Dad, can you come jump on the trampoline with me” or “can I have more candy” the phrase that will come from me will be “just a minute” while I try to determine which room of our house is hosting that voice so that I can shut down the possibilities of potential disaster racing through my mind.

Admittedly though, some times when I hear “can you help me write my letters” or “will you read this book with me” my reply is “just a minute”. Yes, sometimes, it is because I am in the middle of something important that needs my immediate attention until I can break free from it. Sometimes, though, it is because I am tired and I have just sat down. Sometimes I just can’t do much of anything because I just need a moment to catch my breath. And, really, at that point, I will help but only after I can collect myself and move forward, you know in just a minute.

I suppose I could apologize having those moments. I won’t though. I feel badly when I can’t honor every request when asked but I also know I can’t honor every request when asked. Yes, I do pick and choose what I do and don’t do. I hope that is a part of becoming wiser about making such choices because I know those are things I struggle with each day.

Still, that leaves some folks hanging waiting for that “minute” to pass. For our daughter, I hope she takes every one of those “just a minute” statements and banks the time each one represents away somewhere for a later day. I say this because I feel there will be a day when the busyness of life for me and her mom will slow while the busyness of her life will pick up speed. Her life will then be a whirlwind of activity, one which I hope will be fun and fulfilling. I hope though she will learn to stop now and then to think of me and her mom so that she comes to understand that despite our faults and failings we love her beyond words even if the time she takes to do so is just a minute.

How Many More Times?

I know I think it more than I say it. It seems that if I say it once a day then I say it a dozen times a day. Sometimes when I say it I say it so that it is heard by someone else. Other times I say it under my breath so that only I hear it.

Mostly I say it when I am frustrated. The moment I go beyond frustrated to flabbergasted is usually when those first four words break through to the audible side.

“How many more times?”

I understand that when I say this that usually what follows is something pertaining to our active six-year-old.

"How many more times do I have to tell you to pick up your shoes?" "How many more times will I have to tell you to get ready because we have to leave soon?" "How many more times do I have to tell you to come to the table for supper?" "How many more times do I have to ask you to buckle your car seat so we can go?" "How many more times do I have to tell you it’s time to stop giggling so you can go to sleep?"

Deep down I know these questions will gradually change. "How many more times will I have to tell you to do your homework?" "How many more times will I have to tell you to put down your phone and look at me when I am talking to you?" "How many more times do I have to tell you that rolling your eyes is not the best way for us to communicate?" "How many more times will I need to tell you to help your Mom clear the supper table?" "How many more times do I have to tell you to pick up your shoes?" Well, maybe one or two questions won’t change.

Deep, deep down, somewhere in the space between today’s questions and the questions that will come in some tomorrow rest other questions which tug and pull at my heart. These questions are ones which hit me where I live and breathe. "How many more times will I pick you up then twirl and spin you around until both of us are breathlessly laughing?" "How many more times will I walk into our living room to see you and your Mom cuddled together watching a movie?" "How many more times will I see you half-running, half-skipping in our yard chasing a butterfly?" "How many more times will you want to play hide-and-seek or ride your bike?" "How many more times will I just be able to hold you so I can soak in the still, silent moment?"

I don’t verbalize this last set of questions. I keep these questions to myself understanding that speaking them means more time has moved into the future into a time and place where looking back will make me forget all the times I asked such questions from a place of frustration.

Still, that four word question is never too far away.

"How many more times?" Not enough. Never enough.