I multi-task with the best of them. Cook dinner, hold the baby, talk on the phone and tie a shoe? No problem. Nurse the baby, read aloud and knit? Okay.

Sometimes I wonder though if I am losing my ability to focus on a single thing, to really live totally in the moment. I often think ahead to the next thing, and I lose sight of what it is I am currently doing. After all these years of doing multiple things at once, I have difficulty doing only one thing at a time. When the children read to me, I find it hard to sit and do nothing other than listen to them. My hands start twitching for knitting needles or my legs want to get up and move around while listening.

Lately, I have been trying to not do as much multi-tasking, to see if I can get back the feeling of losing myself in a singe task. I am refocusing on only chopping the onions, nursing the baby or listening to the child.

I am not sure if I will be successful (is is even possible to nurse a baby to sleep without reading or knitting and stay awake myself?), but it is quite different.

To contrast my last post, I love the day after Christmas. It is the harbinger of a new season for me. As the detritus of the holiday litters the home, it is time to start cleaning. Away go the wrappings and excessive packaging. Why must toys be wrapped in so much plastic and cardboard? With them, the old papers, catalogs and unneeded magazines from the living room are swept away. As the new socks and shirts go into the drawers, the ripped and stained ones make their way to the rag bin. The new toys find homes in the children's rooms, and the unused and broken toys are gathered to be discarded or given away.

Soon the tree will come down. As happy as I am to see it go up every year, I am just as happy when it comes down. The room expands as the huge tree leaves. It feels fresh and new again, an open space waiting for parties and projects. Light pours in as the blocked window is revealed again, making the room somehow more stark. The emptiness and the potential are the perfect compliment to the winter season.

I do love the days after the holiday. Once the house is put to rights again for the year, I can focus on the projects in my life that need my attention again.

I do not like Christmas. Does that make me a Grinch?

I love the natural beauty of this time of year. The weather is crisp, but not usually so cold that I don't want to venture outside at all. The first snowfalls are beautiful, blanketing the world in a fluffy white quilt. The time of slush and ice crystals is yet to come. The season of hibernation looms in front of me, and I love the times of seasonal transition. The indoor and internal possibilities for the winter are endless. What projects will I work on this year?

I enjoy our religious celebration. The magical candlelit night of Yule is special. The children look forward to our Yule dinner all year, and I enjoy telling the winter fairy story by the light of the tree. The wish bread tradition is special, and our morning breakfast tradition of wish bread, orange juice and singing is great. I like giving the children a present or two from Luis and myself.

Christmas is not something I yearn for, though. It is overblown. There does not need to be six or eight weeks of anticipation for any yearly event in my opinion. I could be more tolerant if it were less in your face and more personal, but blow up yard Santas and houses dripping with lights seems to be more about keeping up with the neighbors than a personal celebration of joy. I tire of shop clerks threatening my kids with Santa ("you'd better be good because Santa is watching!").

I do not like the materialism of the day. Some of our family members are great with presents, giving needed gifts like clothes; special, quality toys that the children really desire; services like art classes; or educational things we might not otherwise get. These are great gifts, but still the obligation bothers me. I prefer to give presents because I saw something and thought of a friend or family member, not because the calendar says that I should give a gift. There are other family members, though, that I swear pick out anything at the variety store, resulting in occasionally bizarre gifts, like real microscopes given to five year olds. Other try to live vicariously through our family by showering our children with a literal mountain of toys, many of which will be played with for about two months before being forgotten or broken. It is over the top, too much to an absurd degree. It leaves us feeling like we should get very little for our children because too much is coming, but at the same time it feels like we should go overboard too because aren't we as the parent's supposed to be the primary gift givers?

Then there are the myriad traditions that seemingly cannot be broken. There would be a family riot should be not attend Noche Buena dinner, and I feel guilty every year that we do not attend a holiday gathering at a relative's home. The gatherings are fun, but I feel pulled in too many directions. I love seeing our families, but hate cramming six different events into four day's time.

The magic of the time of year is real, and I love seeing the children's face light up after Santa comes, dropping off a few gifts. I wish I could embrace the joy without the obligation and baggage, finding the fun that other people seems to find in the season.

Life is too short for waxy chocolate, spongy bread or supermarket cheese.

I have been the cliche alternative hippie at one stage of my life, the woman who boycotts bras and makeup, who does not even own a hairdryer and who goes about her day in sloppy jeans and tshirts. I am not sure if I was doing it because it felt right at the time or if it was because that was what all the good alternative people did.

After a couple of years of this, I realized that I like to wear lipstick. I like eyeliner, eyeshadow and other makeup. I enjoy styling my hair, and Heidi braids are not for me. I like my clothes to be more refined that sweatshirts and trainers. Bras are comfortable and I like having things supported.

I like soft pink.

I will not judge women who are comfortable in their Birks, men's sweaters and rugged cords with clean faces and hair pulled back in ponytails or braids. Please do not look at me in my tailored pants, ribbed fitted turtleneck, three inch heels and lipstick and assume that you know about my life and my beliefs. I am comfortable in my skin, having found the style that feels right for me. It has nothing to do with my ecological, social, political or religious beliefs.

If people want to be accepted with their dreadlocks, pierced noses and chunky Peruvian handknit sweaters, they should also accept that some people prefer other styles. It does not mean that we are not be kindred spirits inside.