Anticipation

My boy has been waking up with great enthusiasm each morning, eager with anticipation to open the day's Advent calendar. At first light, he climbs out of bed and rummages around his dimly lit room, digging through the mountain of Lego pieces on the floor to find (what else?) his Lego Advent Calendar. He holds his breath, tears into the appropriate number, nimble fingers trembling, only to exhale in elation when he discovers the daily treasure. He tears through the plastic wrap and immediately sets to work, constructing the latest vehicle or figure.

At what age is this no longer the norm? When do we stop caring about the little things? When did life get so complicated that a small Lego figure no longer suffices for sheer excitement and utter joy? I still feel anticipation about a great many events and items I am looking forward to, but all too often it seems I am wishing away large portions of my life--weeks, even months-- to get to the next marathon, the next trip, the time spent at home in California. Where is the anticipation in even the smallest happiness of today?

In the return car ride from her big swim meet tonight, Owen said, "Now that this weekend is over, I can't WAIT for next weekend..." (her campout with the IP tribe). I had to laugh to myself. I admit I felt annoyed that we suffered and sacrificed in ways this weekend she won't understand until she is a parent, yet now it all seemed so futile--gone as quickly as it came, and with what seemed like little appreciation.

And yet, I deeply understand her need and desire to attach hope and happiness to the next best thing coming down the pike. Maybe this is just how we are wired, she and I? Maybe we need to attach happiness and hopefulness to things that are to come, tangible things, but just out of reach. Maybe the boy is more like his father and can live in the minuscule merry moments and find contentment there. I think I really envy that and long for a taste of it.

I wish Christmas would hurry up and get here already.