Midnight Mass

This has been an interesting month since I turned 39.

Not only did I not collapse from turning one year closer to 40 nor melt into a puddle of despair about not being a mom yet, I have managed to celebrate a holiday season that I have verbally cursed-out for the past 4 years. I have truly enjoyed this year's festivities whole-heartedly and for the first time, in a longer time than I can imagine, I look forward to the new year.

Sweet Guy and I are loving being in our new (bigger) apartment and have taken advantage of the space by throwing dinner parties for our family and friends. We are even throwing our friend's husband a surprise birthday party on January 1st. I feel like an adult in my apartment - 39 and finally an adult.

My husband in a non-practicing Jew and I am a non-practicing Catholic, so this holiday season has been a combo of half-traditions and mostly making of new ones. We have a beautiful Menorah that we lit candles for every night of Hanukkah. This was in honor of Sweet Guy's grandmother. We got a tree and hung stockings in honor of my grandmother who passed on Easter morning of this year. This is the first Christmas without her and she was definitely in my heart and mind while I festively decorated our apartment.

When I was little we'd attend Midnight Mass - a long Catholic Midnight Mass, that at that age, seemed to last 2 weeks long. We'd then sleepily walk home with my mother holding my hand and balancing my sleeping brother in her remaining arm. It was the three of us and she always made this time of year feel like it was "the most wonderful time of the year." We'd stumble into our front door and within an instant we'd be pumped full of explosive adrenaline and race towards the Christmas tree and tear open all of the presents as if our lives depended on it. One year, the year before I found out that mom was Santa, we actually caught Santa in the act of leaving presents under the tree. That's right, mom had hired a jolly ol' soul to dress up like Santa and surprise her little babes with the greatest moment that a child, who believes in Santa, could ever experience. That Christmas is burned in my memory.

Every Christmas since then I have tried to relive the moment where I believed in the magic of Santa. It was a childhood memory that holds priority in my catalog file of happy moments. In our family it's tradition to open presents on Christmas Eve. We are of Norwegian decent and I have heard that this is where the tradition comes from - Scandinavia, Germany and Eastern Europe. In my opinion, it's a tradition that I will never break - the lights of the tree are the most beautiful and I remember my mom appreciating being able to sleep in while we woke up at 5 in the morning to go play with our shiny new toys.

This year, since I am feeling full of holiday cheer, I found myself being as traditional to my childhood as I could. We went to our friends house last night for dinner, all the while I was fantasizing about attending a Midnight Mass - and how I could bribe Sweet Guy into sitting through a 1 1/2-2 hour ceremony about baby Jesus. Our friends are non-practicing Christians and of all the years I've known them they have never mentioned attending church, nor attending Midnight Mass. However, last night, as if someone heard my desire, our friends sister and her son mentioned how they'd like to go this year to Midnight Mass.

So off we went, piled into two cabs, down 5th Avenue, surrounded by the most beautiful twinkling lights you can ever imagine, we found ourselves at the 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church. When we arrived the organs were playing and my heart fell open. It was a beautiful ceremony - a little different than a Catholic ceremony (shorter) but the message was clear and the celebration was pure. I had halfway wanted to convince everyone to travel two more blocks down to St. Patricks, one of my favorite Churches in NYC, but I didn't want to push my luck. I was where I needed to be and it was a perfect night.

After the ceremony, I felt a familiar feeling brewing in my body. I practically had to carry Sweet Guy to the curb to hail a cab and when we got home, though we both had been tired, we found a second wind. As I flashed a big grin his direction, I somehow found myself convincing him that we should dive under the tree and open all of the presents now, tonight! Our dog, who also got a stocking this year, joined in the fun - he could sniff out his treats a mile away. It was a blast! We were delirious and though the intensity of excitement has waned over the years, the impact of the spirit of Christmas was still alive in my cells.

I didn't see Santa this year, but Sweet Guy surprised me with a trip to Italy in the Spring.... IVF #6 can wait, 'cause this girl is living her life!!

The most real thing there is, is that which cannot be seen...

These are a few of my favorite things:

Jackie Evancho - Beautiful songbird

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

UP! Everyone should see this movie

BUON ITALIA!!!

Santa Croce, Firenze

A Room with a View