Bells Will Be Ringing...

Alright, I gave it a shot but I failed. I was not able to stifle my Christmas spirit until December first. It's not my fault though. It's all those radio stations that are playing Christmas music, the decorated trees in stores, and the fact that it's all anyone is talking about!

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is a special song that Son #2 and I share: Please Come Home for Christmas. When he was a baby and I was still fighting off the postpartum depression, this song always seemed to come on the radio when things were tough. I remember holding and snuggling with him while swaying back and forth to this Christmas song. It was a special moment, a bond between mother and son. Then the song disappeared from my thoughts for 11 months. Next Christmas, he was almost 1 and a half - a very busy toddler. I heard the sweet rhythm of this song and took the opportunity to cradle him again to try and settle him down. Then somehow, the song became Our Dancing Song. The next year, he loved hearing Our Dancing Song. He would stand on a chair or the kitchen counter, with him arm properly extended, and would dance with Mama. His favorite parts of the dance were twirling and dipping. Then he got older. It wasn't fun any more to dance with Mama. If big brother caught him, he knew he was in for it. So there was quite a bit of resistance there. I knew I had to give up on Our Dancing Song, even though it would remain in my memory for the duration of my life.

Last evening, Son #2 came into my bedroom and said, "You need to come into the baby's room - quick!" Oh no, I thought. What in the world has she done now? I ran into her room to see my sweet son standing near the radio, smiling. The music that filled the room sang, Bells will be ringing this sad, sad news...Oh what a Christmas to have the blues. "It's Our Dancing Song, Mama." It may sound totally sappy but joy filled my heart at that moment! I hugged him and started swaying back and forth, although he is now almost up to my shoulder. The moment lasted for only that - a moment. Big brother walked by and questioned "What are you doing?" The dancing immediately stopped. Oh well. I'll take my moment; I probably don't have many like that left.