Listen from the website.

It sure was fun talking about things I really haven’t talked much about in a while. It’s nice seeing my old friends trickling in to the blog again, too. Plus some new names–those never stopped, though, amazingly.

The charge: because of a lack of religion, which would otherwise instill higher values in me, Physical Health has risen to one of my greatest values of all. Dennis says health becomes like a religion to the secularist and he speaks truth. After Family and Loving Others, Health really is my next greatest value.

Perhaps it is because my healthy habits give me more energy to make it through the day, to feel happy around my children and husband, even providing me greater ability to serve others. I want that fix. But it’s a vile habit, this constant concern over my health.

In December, Jesus’ birthday swept me toward religious gluttony, as I was spending most of my days shopping for presents and baking unhealthy Christmas goodies, of which I would normally not partake. I was moved by the spirit of that holy day, and turned away from my health-vices.

But now that the spirit of Christmas has subsided, I find myself ever more enticed to return to my old ways of daily exercise.

Paganistic traditions are calling me with a sweet, subtle temptation to return to Mother Nature and take the time to prepare meals from whole foods for my family.

I am finding a desire to allocate half my meal portions (you heard me, HALF) to the vegetables. Only one quarter of my plates contain an animal, which we know from the Holy Bible was given to man to have dominion over.

So yes, dear Dennis, you are correct. The loss of religion has rearranged my priorities, making a value as lowly as Health, one of my great priorities. Please forgive me.

Do more what, you might ask? Well, he wants me to do more Christmas!

This afternoon I took all the decorations off the dry, crumbling, can’t-handle-the-Arizona-heat Christmas tree, and put them away. Aiden just asked me, “Where’s the star, Mama?”

“I took it down,” I told him. “Christmas is all done now.”

“No!” He couldn’t believe it. Life begins and ends with Christmas. “There’s more! Do more, Mommy! Do more!”

Last year, when Christmas ended, he asked me for months where Santa went. He loved seeing all the santa’s everywhere: on coffee mugs, on store shop windows, in books we read. He heard his name sung in every store we entered. I knew this was a Christmas-loving boy.

“Where’s Santa?” was the constant question, over and over again while we went from place to place. He continued to sing his two favorite Christmas songs deep into springtime. As summer approached he finally got over it. But now here he is, on my living room floor, staring at the bare, Evergreen, demanding, “Do more!”

How long will this last? Will he ever get over Christmas?

You know, it’s funny . . . today was our dog’s birthday. He is one year old, but he doesn’t know it. I bought him a special treat. It’s a can of liver-flavored squirt-gunk. I filled his kong with it and he devoured it. But he still doesn’t know today is any different from any other day. Dogs are sure different than humans.

One of my favorite holiday traditions is our Pre-Christmas evening with our best friends, Tami and Larry Keim. (Yes, you know Larry. And if you read my comments, you’ve heard from Tami, also). On this night, we get the kids down to bed right as Tami and Larry arrive at our home. We break open champaigne or Egg Nog, have some dessert, and exchange PRESENTS!

Tami is one of those more-thoughtful-than-average present-givers. I know this because, not only do I receive gifts from her, I have also gone gift-shopping with her. She will go from store to store to find just the right item, in just the right style. My awesome husband, Israel, is one of other best gift-givers I’ve known. He crawls to the end of the world for the most supreme presents for my birthdays, Christmas, and all those other days that bind us with the social requirement of gift-shopping.

But I digress . . . big-time. On this Christmas-For-The-Adults evening, we also exchange stories. We’re a story-sharing group, and are known for spending 5 hours at a restaurant (yes, we tip our servers well). Somehow, this evening, like most evenings, we got to the subject of evolution, and how it is so foreign to some people, that they can’t imagine any of their acquaintances actually accept it!

I told them of my dear sister-in-law, who says she has the WEIRDEST brother-in-law. When I asked her what made him so weird, she told me he actually believes in evolution! He read a book, and “automatically believes everything, just because it’s in a book.”

Then there is one of my husband’s aunts, who told me how she’s having to endure this awful geology class, wasting her time learning things that are just not true; for example, that some rocks are billions of years old. In her mind, if they say it is more than 6 or 7,ooo years old, they are wrong.

I love these two ladies. But I can’t believe people I am close with still think this way. Larry had his own contribution to the evolution-rejecting phenonemon. He told us about an article he read in a blog, where the writer describes a similar experience, and then shares a fascinating story of evolution and “Mother Acanthostega” (as opposed to Mother Eve). This is my first time hearing a description of the ancestor that links humans (and all mammals) to our ancestors of the sea.

Right after Christmas, Larry sent me a link to the blog with this article, so I got to read it for myself. What I love about the writer, darksyde, and his way of teaching, is his story-telling style. It’s almost like reading Dean Koontz, except that the names are harder to follow. So it takes a little more concentration. I have criticized science educators for failing to teach. They don’t know how to reach the masses: the majority of us who are not science-oriented. They need to learn from scientists like Carl Sagan, or like this blogger, darksyde.

So I encourage you to go check out this blog. It is my late holiday gift to you, which I am re-gifting from Larry.

Right away Trinity was at it, “Mom, I’m not sure if you want Aiden to eat that meat he got from the fridge.”

My first thought was to just ignore her. The kids can’t handle a single step without somehow involving me. But the idea of Aiden having meat kept bothering me. I ate the last of the sandwich meat yesterday.

My Mommy Conscience convinced me to check it out. There was Aiden, sitting at the patio table, pulling out a nice, thick piece of raw pork. He had it between both hands, mouth watering, and was ready to sink his teeth into the juicy flesh.

Once I managed that crisis, I was ready to steal away for a shower. Peace doesn’t last long in a house with three young kids. Aiden walked into my bathroom as I was fixing my hair, saying, “Mama, my hands got dirty.”

Sure enough, he had covered them in both brown and powdered sugar. And it was around his mouth. And the front of his shirt. I stood him in the empty shower, told him to “Stay!”, and ran to the kitchen to see what kind of disaster I had there . . . and whether the dog had discovered it.

In the afternoon, I planned to cut out sugar cookies with the two older kids while Aiden napped. This would be the day he decided he just couldn’t fall asleep. So now it was all three kids.

All three kids, six hyper-active hands moving too fast for me; jabbing their cutters half on, half off the dough; smashing each others’ completed shapes while trying to make their own; three mouths fighting, complaining, whining. I don’t know how many times I sent various children to time-out during that family traditional moment. Even my 8-year-old. It’s been years since Blake sat on an actual time-out chair.

Finally, I’d had enough of the noise and confusion. I sent them all out while I re-organized the kitchen. When I was ready, I called each child in one last time, alone, to cut out two more cookies. Afterward, I banned them from my sacred space while I finished.

In the semi-quiet of the kitchen, I cut out the last four cookies, then came to the living room to relax on the couch. And there was the last surprise of the day: a big, dark pen scribble on our ottomon.

Nice.

Israel and I both grew up with Christmas. Even though I don’t believe Jesus was born of a virgin, or that he rose three days after his death, I choose to celebrate Christmas because I believe traditions are healthy for the soul. I also recognize the power of ritual and symbolism, which religions capitalize on. What is it about the human mind that is so effected by ritual and symbolism? Christmas is rich with symbolism.

As a child, this memorable holiday provided benchmarks for my life. It added a magical, mysterious element to my world that I would never deny my children. Christmas gave me evenings with my family, playing games, trying new foods, bringing treats to friends and neighbors.

As an adult, Christmas has taught me to be more aware of others. I am not a natural gift-giver. To some people, nothing says “I love you” better than a gift. I am more receptive to gifts of praise! While I enjoy receiving a present, it’s not important to me. This is why, I have also never been good at thinking of what someone else might want. Over the years, because of Christmas, I have worked on improving my gift-giving skills. Preparing for Christmas has taught me to pay more attention to others and the things they enjoy.

I want to extend an invitation to my readers. I am curious to know how many athiests, agnostics, and other non-religious types, celebrate a religious holiday for this season. Whether you know me personally or not, whether you have commented before or not, I hope you will participate and give the following information:

1. Explain your non-belief or beliefs (example: I am agnostic).
2. Tell us whether you choose to observe one of the religious holidays of the season, and which one.
3. Explain why you justify celebrating or not celebrating.
4. Tell us if you have adapted the holiday a certain way to accomodate your secularism.