Mom in the Mirror

How the mommy stole Halloween and Christmas

Be careful what you wish for... In one of my recent columns, I mentioned how much I'd like to skip Halloween, and guess what? The other day Colter said he didn't want to go trick-or-treating this year.

It's not my fault, really, at least not directly. He doesn't read my columns and I hadn't discussed it with him. He just decided he'd rather stay home, hand out candy and maybe go without parental supervision next year.

I was devastated and felt like a total failure as a parent. What kind of kid doesn't want to dress up and get free food? Mine, apparently. After talking to death why he didn't want to go (he doesn't know kids or grownups in our newish neighborhood), I finally let it be. He is very much his own person and I don't want to force him to do something that's supposed to be fun, especially because I hate being in that position myself.

I had just recovered from the stay-at-home Halloween when Colter asked me whether Santa Claus is real. He's been asking since last year and we were pretty sure he knew, but couldn't tell whether he wanted it confirmed or denied. So we've been responding with the parenting psychologist's answer, "What do you think?"

Finally, yesterday, Gary and I talked about it and decided to tell him the truth. I said, "Colter, if by Santa Claus you mean a round, jolly old guy who dresses up in a red suit and brings gifts down the chimney, then no, he's not real. But what I believe is that there's magic in giving to others and that's real and that's what Santa Claus is really about anyway."

He absorbed this just fine and as a bonus it gets us off the hook for a hefty lot of gifts this year, so I should be happy.

And yet I'm not. No trick-or-treating. No Santa Claus. I feel like I'm losing my innocence as Colter loses his.

I hate holidays

Holidays are hard.

The easiest for me may be Yom Kippur, the time of year when Jews like me officially dedicate ourselves to feeling guilty. I'm good at that!

But the Hallmark holiday expectations of the fall and winter really bother me. I'm sure there are people who spend these special times with friends and family, having great food and fun. But in my world, holidays are stressful and largely unsatisfying.

Take Halloween. There's no real meaning in the day for my family -- I'm not even sure why we mark All Hallow's Eve -- just a conversation that begins in September about costumes and candy.

We've gone pumpkin picking, made costumes and hung creepy lights. Each year it's more or less the same.

My introverted son reluctantly knocks on doors and asks total strangers for treats. Sometimes he goes to prime neighborhoods with friends, other times he sticks closer to home. Either way, he only lasts a half-hour -- maximum -- from the time he leaves the house to the time he dumps his load on the floor and starts sorting.

His favorites are usually the candies we bought to give away. So, why can't I just get him some gummy bears and be done with it?

Then there's Thanksgiving. Ever since I turned 18 and went away to college, I've faced the annual question: Are you coming home?

First I must set aside my irritation that I haven't lived in Chicago for 22 years and yet it's still considered "home" -- even by me, sometimes.

Next, there's the travel. It isn't just the crowds and inconvenience, it's the expense of flying me, my husband and our son halfway across the country. We've always stayed in the city with my parents, so there's no hotel cost, but we compensate by shopping and eating out extravagantly while we're there.

We typically cram all kinds of museums and outings into a very short trip and then see my extended family once, on Thanksgiving Day. I love my family -- aunts, uncles, cousins, their children -- but there's not much opportunity to really connect if the only time I see them is when we're scarfing down appetizers and stuffing ourselves around tables large enough to accommodate dozens.

I usually move from conversation to conversation, talking to everyone briefly, catching up on the superficial developments since I saw them last (the year before, if I'm lucky). Just when I feel like I'm really getting to know them again, the night is over, the trip is winding down, and all my intentions to stay in touch via e-mail and phone are like a depressing holiday hangover.

Since my father died a few years, it's only become more difficult. I feel much more inclined to wrap myself in the warmth of my extended family and yet less able to because of my geographic and emotional distance from them.

And finally, there's Chanukah and Christmas. I'm Jewish, my husband is not. So we celebrate both.

Twice the happiness? Theoretically. But in reality, it's just twice the anxiety.

In general, we blend traditions fine. And I especially love the holiday music. But every year since our son has been in school, there have been culture clashes. This year he's in chorus, and for the winter concert they'll be dressing up in elf costumes and singing "Follow the Shepherd" and other religious songs. To appease us, his chorus teacher has added one Chanukah song. I'll enjoy my son's performance (except when he's mouthing words he doesn't want to sing), but not the feeling of being marginalized.

And now that we live in a different state than my husband's family, there's the Christmas version of the Thanksgiving question: Will we be coming home? (Home in this case means North Carolina, where I lived for 15 years and my husband lived for 25 years.)

We face the same challenges with this holiday as we did with Thanksgiving -- the travel, the expense, the crammed agenda with little chance of building on the important relationships with people who live states away now. More frustration, less satisfaction.

Don't misunderstand, there are special days in the life of my family, many of them. You just might not be able to tell when they are by the dates on the calendar.

So, for now, I look forward to New Year's, because it means I can relax for a while.

At least until Groundhog Day.

A version of this LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

My clippings

Here are links to some of the most interesting stories I've read recently:

When the Z's you get aren't yours
'Fess up, the snoring is a problem.

Parents fret that dialing up interferes with growing up
I'm not sure whether to be thrilled or concerned that Colter shows no interest yet in connecting electronically with his peers.

Sick of their husbands in graying Japan
This sure makes retirement look appealing.

And the world's oldest first-time fathers are...
...Lazy, it turns out.

Survey: Children don't get enough sleep
No, duh. Their parents don't either.

Getting in
So why am I still paying off my student loans?

U.S. study: Marriage boosts prosperity, helps children
Finally, some good news.

Candace Busnell says success is the new sex
From Sex and the City to Sexless in the 'Burbs.

Excuse me, sir, where are the tampons?

My husband is a mensch and rarely complains about anything. But the other day he mentioned that he hates buying me tampons.

"I'm not embarrassed," he said. "I just never know where in the store to find them."

In some stores, they're on the aisle with shampoos, in others they're near the toilet paper or paper towels.

And then, he tells me, right when he starts to get used to their location, they're moved!

I don't remember ever having trouble finding tampons. Do women have a special radar for this kind of thing?

Hurricane hysteria

Instead of panicking about Hurricane Wilma, I'm focusing on the drama in fictional lives. So, here's the latest from inside the serial box:

• Lesli Kay (formerly Lois on GH and Molly on ATWT) is the new Felicia Forrester on "The Bold and the Beautiful." She first airs Nov. 30.
• Rick Springfield is returning to GH for a few episodes to help Robin treat Jason. He first airs Dec. 2.
• I'm loving this gallery of Soap Opera Digest covers from the last 30 years.

Thank goodness I have soap operas to distract me!

What distracts you when times are tense?

When underachieving is good enough

I'm a type A personality with a son who is happy to come in second.

What's strange is that I'm happy for him.

I don't mind that he played on a basketball team that lost all but one game last season. He really enjoyed and appreciated that single victory. He earned it.

I don't mind that he's not the most popular or the best dressed. He has several friends at school and wears clothes that are comfortable and affordable. I like that he's not label-conscious or overly concerned with what others think of him.

My son is a great student. He gets As and Bs, which means he's been on the honor roll every semester and is eligible to join the safety patrol or the school TV station when he's in fifth grade next year. He's also in the gifted program.

But he's not on the principal's list (straight As), and that's OK with both of us.

After a few years of piano lessons, he plays simple songs fluidly, but he's no prodigy. He started taking guitar because he enjoys it more.

This isn't about laziness or a lack of discipline or settling for mediocrity. It's about excelling where you can and enjoying everything else.

Don't get me wrong, Colter is competitive. He likes to beat his father at chess and checkers and any other board or card game he plays. He doesn't like to lose, but he knows that losing is part of the game, something I didn't come to terms with until I was in my ... well, I'm working on it.

I grew up feeling intense pressure to excel -- get good grades, get into a good college, get a good job, earn a good salary.

My life (and my parents' approval) seemed to depend on it. And I never felt I was achieving enough. Until I realized all the accomplishments were empty without the joy of work that mattered and the love of family and friends.

I didn't want my son to feel that same pressure, that same emptiness.

So he's getting a good education, but it's not the best money can buy. I know someone who drives two hours a day so that her children can go to a particular school. I won't do that.

Maybe this is selfish. My parents sacrificed so I could have the best of everything -- the best house in the best neighborhood, the best schools, every advantage. And I expected I would want and do no less for my child. But then he came along, and I saw things differently.

My son would rather spend time at home with me than spend hours being driven to a school farther away that might be better for him.

He was thrilled to be elected an alternate to student government. Last year he received only one vote for the same office. This year, he received more than any other boy in the class except the boy who won (a friend of his).

That's progress. And that's what he likes. He's all about improvement.

He says, "I just want to be good at the things I'm good at."

He's also smart enough to know that in life, we come in second a lot. Only one person wins, but many of us place.

What's best for him is not necessarily the best of everything.

He's my son and I love him. He's learning to love himself, win or lose. That's good enough for me. And I have to believe it will be good enough for him.

A version of this LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

How many T-shirts does it take to finish a meal?

Colter has a hard time sitting still. He's also physically and emotionally sensitive (by which I mean that he responds intensely to stimuli, not that he is especially in tune with others' responses). So dinnertime spills -- actually the mere hint of a spill -- are cause to get up from the table and change from suddenly-uncomfortable clothes into something else. And once he's gone to his bedroom to do that it's anyone's guess whether he'll get totally distracted by toys and other fun or remember we're in the middle of a meal and rejoin us. Once we hear him singing we know he's forgotten we were eating, and so we call him to come back. Usually he does this without a shirt, having remembered to take his off but not to put on a new one.

How many changes of clothes does it take your child(ren) to get through a meal?

A sweet new year

At sundown, Rosh Hashana begins. It's one of my favorite Jewish holidays because it symbolizes repentance, forgiveness, and new beginnings. This book tells a fascinating tale of regret and hope for children and adults. I also love this story, which is a reminder of how special we are, with all our imperfections.

May every day contain the sweetness of an apple and just a few seeds.

L'shana tovah!