Christmas Memories, Sock Monkies, and Gratitude

December 14, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

Last night, I stayed up late making a sock monkey.  I started it around 9 pm, and I stitched as my son watched “Iron Man” and I stitched as my husband replaced “Iron Man” with audio-reading podcasts of the Book of Alma (chapters 30-37) (he’s determined to finish before the year’s end, and he will).  As my husband followed along with his scriptures, the kids grabbed their blankets and snuggled up on the floor, and I stitched and stuffed.  Soon enough, my husband was done reading.  He put the kids to bed and I stitched after helping change the kids into their PJs.

My husband went to bed and I stitched.

Finally… at 11:30, the monkey -sans eyes -was finished.  I thought about stitching buttons on, but I was tired.  I knew an alert eye would better handle a needle than the tired I eye I was using.  I sat back and looked at the monkey, and then I looked up at the clock.

Sitting next to the clock in a homemade stocking was the sock monkey my great-grandmother had made for me when I was a little kid.  Looking at that monkey always takes me back, and it’s impossible to feel anything but warm inside.  Grandmothers have a special way of doing that, you know… making you feel warm.  I took a moment to think about my great-grandmother as I stared at the sock monkey.  As I’ve stitched my own sock monkeys, I’ve often referred to my monkey.  I’ve studied her stitches and tried to decipher her techniques.  I wonder what she thinks of me as a 25 year-old, still cabbaging onto a sock monkey she made out of her husband’s old red heel socks.

Then I remembered the date.  It was December 13th.  December 13th…   And again, I went back.

December 13th, 1996 was a red letter day for me.  It was my brother’s birthday, and per tradition we were going to buy and put up a tree that night.  I looked forward to that day ALL Christmas season.  We always put up a real tree, and it was my brother’s (the birthday boy) job to pick a tree out.  He was very particular and always came home with the BEST of what was left in the Christmas Tree lot.  I knew what was to come…Dad and the brothers would stand the tree up and adjust it to fit JUST RIGHT in the tree stand.  Mom would pour a mixture of 7up and water into the base of the tree stand.  Then came the lights -multiple colors -and then mom would pull out the box.

It was a beautiful red Christmas cardboard box, and it was filled with ornaments of all kinds.  There was the green construction paper one I made with my school picture on it. The homemade wooden ornaments that Sister McLaws had hand painted for all of us.  The birds mom made out of ribbon, the little bear ornaments that were given to us so long ago that I don’t have a Christmas memory without them in it.  The singing plush gingerbread man.  The singing plastic snowman.  How we loved to make them sing together -of for no other reason than to drive our sweet mother mad!  Lastly, we would top the tree with strands of glittering icicles.  The colorful lights would glint off of them as they swayed to even the SLIGHTEST change in air movement.

What a night I had to look forward to!  I stepped into my classroom and was there named Student of the Week for being so bubbly.  Could the day GET any BETTER?!  I happily made my way to the old school bell where they took my picture (Polaroid) and within a few minutes, my picture was placed on the bulletin board where it would remain for the ENTIRE week.  How I had coveted that spot for weeks, and now… NOW IT WAS MINE!  It took all the courage I could muster not to ask to use the bathroom, just so I could walk by and see my picture with my name under the words “Student of the Week.”

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mother about it.  I couldn’t wait to get home and anticipate tree decorating.  I couldn’t WAIT to get HOME!

But once there, my mother pulled us all together and let us know that our great-grandmother had passed away.  It didn’t come as any great shock, really.  We all knew it was coming, but it still affected me.  I was born excessively sentimental -an affliction that persecutes me to this very day.  I didn’t want to cry in front of my older brothers -what great foddery for teasing that would make.  I bit my lip.  I looked down.  I tried to take the news cooly.   I looked up to see how my brothers were taking the news.  I looked first at my oldest brother.  He had a slight grin on his face.

“Are you going to write this in your journal?” He asked, teasing. His teasing sent my tears over the edge, and I escaped to my room where I did indeed write in my journal that my great-grandmother had died.

In the months proceeding her death, she had been miserable.  She had taken such good care of her mortal body that death seemed to evade her, much to her disdain.

“Don’t take such good care of yourself,” she’d advise me.  And I’d laugh.

“I took much too good care of myself,” she’d say.  And then she’d tell me how badly she wanted to die.  Having always been a very capable woman, living with her children wasn’t an easy thing for her to do.  They all lived conveniently within a block of her home, and she would spend a little time with one and a little time with another.

Before she lived with her children, I had spent a lot of time at her home.  Once a week on her daybed, she’d given me crochet lessons.  The skill she taught me has almost singlehandedly paid for my husband’s 30th birthday gift, and I know she wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’ve tried to think of ways to thank her, and only one thing comes to mind: teach others.  I know that’s what she’d have me do.

I missed our weekly meeting together, and so I’d visit her as she moved from home to home.  I decided, one day, that she deserved something she’d given to everyone else but never saved for herself: a sock monkey.  Even as a child, when I got an idea I was pretty determined.  Nothing really stopped me, even if in the back of my mind I knew it was going to turn out much less than perfect.  I sifted through my socks and finally found a pair of worn purple socks that I thought really fit the bill.  I cut and stitched and guessed at how to make a monkey.  I wish I had a picture of that monkey, I really do.  My very first sock monkey, and how awful it was!  It didn’t look a thing like a monkey, and I knew that… but it was all I had.  I also knew that my Nunna had something of a blind eye when it came to gifts from her grandchildren, so I took it to Uncle Doyle’s house (where she was staying) along with a note I’d written in EXTRA EXTRA LARGE lettering on account of her sight which I had reckoned was pretty near gone.

When I proudly presented my monkey to her, she cried.  She hugged me and she cried.  I didn’t know how to respond because I had envisioned that she would praise my crafting expertise… not cry.  Looking back, I can see why a gift of a haphazardly sewn sock monkey could make a woman cry.  Aside from inheriting my grandmother’s knack for writing and nearly-daily journaling (yes, even as a elementary school student), I had inherited her sentimentality.

I didn’t realize, as I journaled away the days of my life back then, that my great-grandmother also journaled away the days of her life.  As I read through her journals this summer, I found an excerpt she’d written about a visit she’d taken to a doctor’s office.  As she sat in the waiting room, she engaged conversation with other patients waiting.  They related to her the story of their ills.  She recorded her sympathy and went on to say that she could never be a doctor -she was always to concerned with the people themselves.  I smiled when I read that because I’m exactly the same way.

And as I sat there last night, staring in turn at the monkey from my childhood and the monkey in my hands, I was grateful for my great-grandmother.

What better way to show it than to write it in my journal?

Nunna, you would have made for a champion blogger.  I love you, and I’m grateful for you.  Your ability to inspire has reached far beyond the grave. 
If this monkey doesn’t get eyes soon, my daughter is going to have a conniption.

Filed Under: Family · Tagged With: , ,

Rocky Mountain Oysters

December 11, 2010 by · 6 Comments

I took the kids up to my folks’ house two night ago for a movie night.  I had planned to watch the old holiday classic “Christmas in Connecticut” with my mother.

I expected to be greeted by my mother’s warm smile and always-cheery smelling house.  As far as the warm smile goes, I got it.  But the cheery-smelling house? Not so much. Instead, I found my Dad over the sink with a knife and a bowl full of what I wished was jelly.

Nope.

He had branded earlier that day, and his bowl was full of cow testicles.

He was going to cook them up, but he couldn’t find the mix he usually uses.  Instead of hunkering down on my parents’ leather couch to watch a Christmas movie, I made my dad A Cow Ball Cookin’ Assembly Line.  I filled a pie tin with an egg and milk mixture, and then I filled another pan with a seasoned flour mixture.  As he cut the oysters up, I dipped them in the egg/milk mixture and then into the flour mixture.

Dad then grilled them on his George Foreman.

My kids weren’t at all interested in the black and white Christmas movie.  But they WERE interested in helping grandpa.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don’t read on if you’re squeamish.  REALLY.

I’m BEGGING you.

Dad only grilled a few, but he did make sure the entire lot of balls was cut and cleaned before he went to bed. The kids were by his side the entire time.
After I had seasoned and coated the few he wanted to cook that night, I retired to the living room for a long winter’s movie.
But I laughed, as I listened to dad and the kids, in spite of myself.

“You’re going to squeeze it,” Dad would say.
“Squeezie! Squeezie!” My son would say. He’s been adding and “ee” sound to the end of everythingee these days. (“I want milky, milky, mliky.” “I want juicy, juicy, juicy!”)

As the kids would squeeze, the meat would come out of it’s skin and be nearly ready for cooking. My son couldn’t get enough of picking them up out of the water and THROWING them back in.
I’m going to warn you AGAIN. DON’T WATCH THIS IF YOUR GAG REFLEX IS WEAK.

cookincowballssqueezie

After they were grilled, we all got a taste.

Anyone is welcome to taste. Dad does make a mean cow ball.

After the movie was over, I loaded the kids into the car and drove home. It took about three minutes. When I pulled into my drive, I turned around and saw:

Cooking can really wear a kid out.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl ·

Christmas “Cards” are Here

December 9, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

Per tradition, our family usually makes cheeseballs every Christmas for family and friends that live ’round about.  This year, despite the fact that cheeseballs and hot cocoa mix cost about the same… I’m sending out delicious hot cocoa mix.  I’m not bragging on my cruddy cooking skills, but I AM bragging on the recipe.  Oh, ho brother!  It is go-OOD.

Last year, we got so busy that although we bought everything for the cheeseballs, we never actually made them.  The result was the untimely demise of any New Year’s Resolution involving weight loss, as I made and devoured an unspeakably shameful amount of grandma’s recipe for homemade cheesecake.

Oh, my mouth is watering.  Let’s change the subject…

I told my husband, in a fit of guilt over the selfishness of NOT delivering to the neighbors and devouring everything myself, that this year we would get right on delivering goodies.

It had to happen, even if that meant my already-neglected home would fall further down on my priority list -which it has.  And the Bunco ladies will see me for what I really am rather than what I WISH they thought I was when they gather here tomorrow night.

I’m a slob.

See my kitchen table? Absolute slobbery. I’m certain the ladies won’t actually care, and I’m also certain that I’m the only one what actually DOES care. Be that as it may, I’m still clawing my way out of Absolute Slobbery 101. I’m constantly fighting it. It’s my lot in life. Slobbery. Slobbery and brownies.
Slobbery and brownies and glee.

But I won’t sink so low as to buy department store Christmas cards (*sarcastic shudder*) because I keep a hard working personal designer on hand. See her in the picture?
Sad (or is it?) truth be told, we’re poor in finances. Hot cocoa mix was a smidge cheaper than the cheeseballs (on account of the cost of crackers, even when purchased in bulk). I had canning jars on hand. And I had green fabric on hand. And of course I had red yarn on hand (leftover from many-a-crochet santa hats). When I put everything together, along with the family picture my aunt had taken and which I had happily picniked before the kids woke up Monday morning, we had a working set-up going. The only problem? We didn’t have cards.
I sat and thought about it for all of two seconds before realizing that my daughter would love nothing more than to personally design every single card.
And, man… did she EVER. That girl is really something. This was my favorite of all the designs. She drew a Christmas bell, wrote “Hohohohoho” and then she drew a picture of something that looked like a butter knife but was actually something entirely different that I cannot recall at all.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and I say so be it. And thank goodness for that.

Filed Under: Family, The Girl ·

Accidental She-Grinch

December 8, 2010 by · 2 Comments

Every year I look forward to the First Presidency Christmas Devotional.  Last year, it really helped me to feel Christmas.  This year, I started feeling Christmas around July when I pulled out my Reader’s Digest Christmas Book and started practicing.

Despite the fact that I’ve felt Christmasy for awhile, I was as excited about the devotional as I was last year.  Then I went.

I sort of remember President Uchtdorf talking about The Grinch.  That was all I got.

We walked into the chapel as a family united and excited.  Then I took the kids’ Santa hats off and the sides were formed -lines were drawn.  They armed themselves with colored pencils and crayons and I hovered threateningly over them.

“Shh,” I whispered, “No loud talking.”

“Santa hats are NOT for church.”

“We don’t stand on the benches…”

We ended up having one long bench to ourselves, and THANK GOODNESS because I ended up using the entire row and sitting at one end, at the other end, and in various places in the middle.  She had to go potty.  He tried to escape.  Hats were thrown.  Pencils were dropped.  Nerves were tried.

Fa la la la la la la la la!

We left the chapel frazzled, frustrated, and tired.

“I didn’t get a word of that,” I said to my husband as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“But at least we were there,” he said.  And that’s true.  At least we were there.  And I wasn’t completely honest with him when I said I didn’t get a word of the devotional.  I heard President Uchtdorf talking about The Grinch, and I thought about myself.  I think every one has Grinchy tendencies around the holidays.  This year, I vowed to simplify.  What ended up happening was I took on too many projects at home and I’m coming apart at the frayed edges.

On Monday, I had an extensive to-do list.  I accomplished everything on it, so far as I was allowed.  I couldn’t completely print our Christmas cards because the copy place ran out of toner, and I couldn’t mail a package off because my husband told me not to.

But everything else got done. At the end of the day, I curled up and crashed.  Tuesday.  Yesterday.  I failed.  I failed at everything and in every area 100%.

Here’s what I ate: Cheerios, cookie dough, gingerbread bits, marshmallows, oreos, and milk.

Here’s what I did: crocheted a hat, watched two episodes of glee and one episode of Bones, taught a piano lesson, tried to muster the energy to crochet more but never actually DID crochet more, and then I curled up and crashed.

I really shouldn’t worry too much about it because I accomplished three days’ worth of junk on Monday alone, and BELIEVE ME I’ll try not to do that again!  Today has been better.  I’ve eaten cheerios and minestrone and cheese and toast.  I’ve taught preschool, done half of my monster dish pile, played piano at the high school, and started making preparations for Bunco night tomorrow.

I’ve got too much going on, but that’s nothing new.  It’s really rather usual.  But after Monday and after yesterday, I’m realizing that it doesn’t take a small heart to be a Grinch.  All it takes is a to-do list full of piddly self-inflicted nonsense.  I will say this: I don’t want to stop Christmas from coming.  I simply want to stall it for a week, and THAT’S WRONG of me.  My heart isn’t too small -it’s just in the wrong place.

Here’s to a lifetime of NO MORE days like Tuesday, December 7 2010.

And here’s to a lifetime of holiday-like cheer.

Filed Under: Family ·

If You Could Pop Through The Picture, You’d Hear:

December 6, 2010 by · 1 Comment

“Babe, let’s put the kids in a chair and we’ll kneel behind it. That way my after-baby belly will be hidden.”

“Sweetie, for the last time… keep your LEGS DOWN. No one wants to see your big girl pants.”

“I can’t take another picture until SOMEONE CHANGES THAT BOY’S DIAPER.”

“I should have worn panty hose, my legs are as white as the snow. Son, look at the camera…”

“Son, LOOK at the CAMERA.”

“It’s okay, I can always picnik it.”

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl ·

TC (Christmas) Movies

December 3, 2010 by · 1 Comment

I’ve been crocheting pretty much full time. Yesterday I made three pairs of slippers and one fluffy pink bear hat. Night before last, I stayed up finishing my aunt’s brilliant black adult-size elf hat for her missionary son.
Today, it’s back to the grind.
Four hot pads.
Three bear hats
Two flower hats.
One pair of slippers.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

While sitting on the couch all day is generally makes me feel like Fatty Fatterson, it does have it’s perks.

I ordered these movies last week from Amazon and I’ve been watching the snot out of them. I’m a HUGE fan of classic movies, and I’m so excited to have a few more Christmas movies around the house! Before they came in the mail, I had my daughter watching “A Christmas Story.” After it was over, she approached me and said, “Mom, Ralphie just said… sunnuva b#*@!.”
Gah!
What sort of Christmas movie IS THAT for a toddler?!

Anyway, I highly recommend “The Shop Around the Corner” to anyone. Jimmy Stewart is just wonderful -as he always is. It has the same story line as “You’ve Got Mail” minus computers and Frank Something-Or-Other. I can watch it over and over and get wrapped up in the dialogue and characters.

I was pleasantly surprised with “Christmas in Connecticut.” It’s a story about a journalist who lives in a tiny stuffy apartment in New York. She pretends she’s a married woman with a baby who lives on a picturesque farm in Connecticut. Her editor knows the truth, but the owner of the magazine she writes for does not. He (the owner) loves her article so much he invites himself to her “farm” for Christmas. It’s a great story, and I’ve watched it several times over. My husband has too -he likes it as much as I do.

Today is going to be spent in much the same way, but I’ve GOT to get my dishes done sometime today. I took one day off from them, and my hands love me for it (they’ve stopped bleeding!) but my kitchen counter is screaming for mercy.

I’ll see you on the other side of four Christmas movies and 10 crochet projects.

Filed Under: Family ·

My Refutation as it Concerns Coco

December 2, 2010 by · 1 Comment

Before I start, I think you should all know that someone searched the term “I hate the letter w” and came up with my site.
I can’t say why exactly, but I’m a little proud.

I also want to bore you a spam comment I received. Someone left one about WANTING to get a heart attack. Apparently, my post on caramel apples seemed to really help them out.

What can I say? I’m here to help.

And now onto more important things: I read a quote a few days ago that affected me in several ways. First, I was ridden with substantial guilt. Then, I was confused. After that, I went into pondering, and I came out the other side amused and little furious.

The quote?
“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” ~ Coco Chanel

On first reading, it seemed so breezy and cool -terribly attractive. Immediately, I looked down at my jeans and tee shirt and thought ‘What’s MY deal then? Am I not a girl? Am I “just” a housewife masquerading as a mom?’
I looked at my house. It was littered in yarn and toys and Christmas ornaments.
Was it classy? No. Fabulous? Gag me.

I walked around my house feeling like a huge let down to my husband. ‘He deserves someone classy and fabulous,’ I moaned to myself, ‘Someone thin with perfect posture and long, skinny fingers (as opposed to my stubby farm girl fingers, of course). He deserves a cleaner house, a wife who is up on the latest fashions, and home decor that REEKS of eucalyptus and perfection.’

That’s not what he has, mind you. But you already knew that.

Then I decided to try and imagine my life as a classy and fabulous woman. I laughed out loud -and I kid you not.
Then I imaged an entire WORLD full of nothing but classy and fabulous women and I laughed EVEN HARDER. Can’t you just picture it?

Madness.
Not only madness but… cat fights. and back bites. and holy mother of all drama.

There’s something to be said for variety. Variety gets the short end of the stick when it comes to mentions. Classy, fabulous… they get more than their fair share of mentions. But variety? We don’t hear much about it. I’d like to change that. I THINK there should be great emphasis put on it! Variety is what keeps society moving! It’s what makes one GREAT MASS BALL of wonderful out of a billion individual souls!

Some of those souls are classy and fabulous, yes. And thank goodness. But some of those souls are also dirty because they’ve spent the day in their garden. Others are in their pajamas and haven’t showered in four days because they’re raising four tiny Future Doctors/Teachers/Cops/Mine Workers that have been passing around the flu. A few of the souls are extra special souls that don’t quite have the “fabulous” or “classy” make of body or mind. A few are depressed. A few are so frackin’ filled with joy that they’re busting out at the seams and making so much racket that no one dares label them “classy” (though I’d consider them very much to be fabulous). Some are in wheel chairs. Some are in rocking chairs. Some are in computer chairs. Some are wrapped up in a blanket in the window with their hair unkempt because they’d rather watch birds than take a shower.

And you know what?
THAT is perfect. THAT is what we need. Women in rocking chairs NEED women that are in computer chairs. Depressed women generally benefit from women in rocking chairs. Young mothers benefit from the “classy and fabulous” women that they certainly can’t be everyday. And I guarantee that classy and fabulous women need scads of help! It takes energy, time, and MONEY to be classy and fabulous!

If we were all investing our existence into being fabulous, we’d sure miss out on… everything.

Whilst pondering, I thought back on the days where I DID feel classy and fabulous, and they were rather unremarkable (the day I got dressed up to go on a date with my husband. Prom night #1. Prom night #2… and that about does it). But the days I felt alive? The days that are etched into my burning soul for all eternity?
I was holding a freshly born baby on my chest.
I was watching two physically filthy toddlers sleep on my cluttered living room floor.
I was holding a positive pregnancy test.
I was holding a college degree.
I was holding hands with my soon-to-be husband for the VERY first time.
I was meeting my goal.
I was teaching.
I was dripping in sweat and peach juice, but the box of peaches… was FINALLY empty!

And so I say to you, women in the world, a girl should be two things: happy and very much herself.

If classy and fabulous is your aim in life, best of luck. You’ve certainly out-done me. However, contact me if you need any mopping done. I’m rather a whiz at it despite the current state of my kitchen floor.

Now, if you’ll pardon me… I’ve got to muck out my kitchen, my son’s diaper, and my brain.
How’s that for class-say?

Filed Under: Family ·

The Tree is Up

December 1, 2010 by · 1 Comment

We put our tree up.  It’s fake.  I love it.

That’s the the short version of what happened.

Want The Alicia version of what happened?  Read on if you do/dare:

I’ve always wanted a pre-lit FAKE tree.  Last year, my husband bought me one.  Before last year, we had been using a three foot tree that was shabby.  And not “shabby chic” shabby.  Just plain SHABBY.  When we went and bought a new full-size tree last year, I was jumping for joy.  The only downside?  My kids could unplug it, grab the cord and run circles around the tree and it would spin with them.

While my best friend was visiting during the holidays, I actually had to speak the words, “HEY!  STOP SPINNING THE TREE!”

It’s moments like those that make you slap your own forehead, and then afterward you realize your palm was covered in peanut butter or jello or playdough and you now have a nasty print on your forehead.  It feels about as good as stomping your foot in frustration, only to have it land in dog poo.

This year, the kids have forgotten about the spinning thing (knock on wood), and they had so much fun getting ornaments from me.  I have a few that coordinate and a few collected from the years over.  There’s the fake glass ship we bought on our Honeymoon while touring four historic ship in a harbor in San Diego (one of the ships was used in the filming of Master and Commander.  I nearly peed myself in excitement.  Nearly).

There’s the blue jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas” and the pink jingle bell that says “Baby’s First Christmas.”  There’s the one made out of baked clay (or something): two teddy bears dressed as a bride and groom holding a cake between them that says “our first Christmas 2004.”

While we put the tree up, I put on some Christmas music that was eventually sacrificed in the name of the Suns game. My little brother came over with a box of green apples and a smile.  I busted out the popsicle sticks (jumbo), caramel, and white chocolate and we started making caramel apples.  While they cooled after the first dipping, we finished putting up Christmas decorations and I made some hot chocolate for everyone including my cousin, Jason, who had come to help with the apples (with the simple stipulation: I help, I eat.  Period. And he helped and then did eat).

While the Suns battled against the refs (according to my husband “It’s like 5 against 7 out there!” and “It’s hard enough playing against five guys, but we’re playing 5 guys and TWO ZEBRAS!”), I pulled my husband under the mistletoe to break it in.  My kids weren’t fazed, but my brother and cousin? Thoroughly disgusted.

Tree Spinner #1:

Tree Spinner #2:

So we put up our tree.
It’s fake.
I love it.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

On Being Irreverent

November 30, 2010 by · 2 Comments

We spent Thanksgiving with my husband’s family, and it was wonderful!  It was very small, and the food was (as it always is) SO good.
I couldn’t resist snapping some close-up pictures. The subjects were just too wonderful.

That pup, by the way, is looking right at the Thanksgiving spread on the table.

My daughter was getting impatient for the meal to start and her grammy gave her a deviled egg. She was thrilled beyond belief and brought it to me announcing, “Mama! Look at this Humpty Dumpty Grammy just gived to me!”

I guess as long as he can’t be put together again, we might as well split and share the spoils.

A few snacks here and there weren’t enough to pacify her, and I was happy when she crawled underneath my arms to have me read “The Polar Express.”
We enjoyed a full feast together and tried diligently to talk about things we were grateful for, but it didn’t go over too well.
It turns out the oddball things my husband is grateful for aren’t heartwarming, but they ARE conversation starters. We got off the subject easily, tried to return to it constantly, and enjoyed our meal thoroughly.
After dinner, I happened to glance at a flier and notice that Bass Pro Shop was open. I’ve been on the look out for red heel socks, and I thought they might have some. I went to round up my kids to take them with me because SANTA was there, but the turkey had taken it’s toll on one of them.

But the rest of us packed up and made the short drive. Our first stop was Santa.
He asked her what she wanted for Christmas.
She said, “A DDD player.”

Thank goodness “santa” has an extra one all boxed up in the closet!

As we walked around the store and from thence to Michael’s where I bought YET MORE cinnamon scented pine cones, I got a weird feeling. I watched the crowds of people flock around. I gawked at the shoppers lined up outside of blackened store windows, and I almost choked on the words “Happy Thanksgiving” as I checked out at Michael’s. It felt SO WEIRD to say that to a cashier.

As we drove home, I remarked to my husband that I’d never again shop on Thanksgiving. I then spent the next few minutes boring him with the tedious details of my childhood Thanksgivings in the country. I didn’t even KNOW the day after Thanksgiving was a huge shopping holiday. In my mind, the day after Thanksgiving was the day Dad and the brothers left on their two-day round-up, and the day I stayed up and baked with mom. Mom always made a real gingerbread house, and I stood guard, snacking on leftover bits of gingerbread and candy. Our little town slowed down (even more so. ha.) for Thanksgiving Day and nothing was open.

I then told him that going out and shopping on a day that was set aside as a day of Thankfulness seemed so… so…
I fished for the right word, and finally came up with:

irreverent.

My husband nodded in agreement and spent the next few minutes boring me the tedious details of his big-business-tyranny rant. He was 100% right on all accounts, but I’ve heard it before. Many times. Just like he’s heard me talk about my childhood Thanksgivings before. Many, many times (over).

The day after Thanksgiving, we came home. I knew my Dad was gone on a round-up and I knew my mom was making her gingerbread house. My mom gradually decorates the house after Thanksgiving, but the tree doesn’t go up until December 13th, my brother’s birthday. But WITHOUT FAIL, a gingerbread house is made and assembled the day after.

Since 2005, I’ve been making my own gingerbread house. This year, I lost a screw in my head and made four gingerbread houses. One is a small love shack, and the other three were even smaller -perfect for toddlers to decorate. We spent yesterday baking and putting them together, and I thought warmly of my mother as my kitchen turned from chaos into utter mayhem.

But as I watched my mother’s grandchildren (I invited my niece over) decorate their little houses, my heart just filled to the tip-top. Soft Christmas music played in the background, and the house was flooded with the scent of freshly-baked gingerbread. There was no arguing or fighting. There was only soft giggles and lips smacking and tiny little chatters.

I texted the above picture to my mother and when she called to thank me for it, I said “Look what you started!”
When I think of my holiday memories, I always think of my mom’s gingerbread house. It was unique to our house, and we looked forward to it every year.
Something else I loved about my mother’s decorations was her Nativity set. It wasn’t big and fancy. It was small and plastic. She liked it that way because then all of her kids could play with it without hurting it.
None of us could have anticipated that my little sister would come and along and repeatedly throw one of the wisemen in the trash because he was a “bad guy” but OTHER THAN THAT, we really couldn’t hurt them.

When my husband and I were first married, we used a WalMart gift card we’d received as a wedding present to buy our meager holiday decorations. The only Nativity we could afford was really small and not pretty at all. It was all of $3, but it served it’s purpose for us that year.
and the next year.
AND the next year.
AND the next year…

Finally, last year I was eaten up with guilt. We needed a more reverent Nativity Scene. I vowed that this year would be the year that we’d get one. I’ve been shopping for one for a long time and couldn’t find “the one.” When I did the grocery shopping last week, I had enough money left over to buy a $20 set at WalMart. My hopes weren’t high that I’d love it, but I was determined to set something up this year.
I had to buy a few animals to go with it because it didn’t include any, and it doesn’t have a Shepard either, but that’s okay for now.
When I came home, I eagerly cleaned the house and dusted the top of the entertainment center, I pulled the Nativity Scene out, and I was MORE than pleasantly surprised! The pieces are good sized and beautiful!
My only nagging regret (Shepard aside) was that it was so high up that my children couldn’t play with it. I shook it off and remembered that on top of the fridge I had a teensy TINY set that my grandmother had given me a few years ago. I pulled it out and the kids had a great deal of fun with it. In fact, baby Jesus has been pocketed and taken on a few field trips without my knowing.

On Sunday, I made my way to our storage unit and got all of our Christmas decorations out. I sent our old three-foot tree with my little sister so her college house could have a little tree all their own (shabby as it is), and I popped open our biggest plastic tub to find a world of merry and bright.
Mistletoe!
Stockings!
Hanging Holiday Signs!
Ornaments galore!

And there, on the very bottom of the tub… was a brand new Nativity Scene that I had purchased on clearance last year after Christmas.

And COMPLETELY forgotten about. I pulled it out and laughed and laughed and laughed. As I unwrapped my decorations, I found my dilapidated Nativity Scene from our first years as a married couple and family. I found a beautiful Willow Tree Christmas Ornament that depicted Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus. And I watched in pure joy as my daughter opened the brand new box of porcelain Nativity people and began to stage them. She rearranged them. She rearranged them. She rearranged them.

She gave them voices and plot lines and all manner of adventures. A few times, the wisemen ended up on the roof of the manger scene. Baby Jesus fell out of his manger and the donkey started to talk!
My son followed her lead and began to play with them as well, and as I glanced around my house I saw a teeny TINY Nativity scene. I saw a dilapidated old Nativity Scene that was well used and not at all pretty. I saw a brand new beautiful Nativity on top of my entertainment center. I saw a decoration depicting Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus. I saw the Nativity felt hand puppets I’d made the day before.And I saw my children, side-by-side, playing with a very breakable Nativity Set to their heart’s content. I realized that my house was now fully equipped to take on the Holiday season, and I breathed a sigh of contentment.
And then I saw this.
It turns out that being irreverent?
Hereditary.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

What’s This… Behind?

November 29, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

It’s true.  For the first time in years, I’m behind in blogging.  I have no excuses to make (I’m only saying that because it seems like a noble thing to say.  I actually DO have a few legit excuses like “I’ve been crocheting so much I’ve forgotten how to do anything else” and “I’ve been busy eating”).

In fact, I’m only hopping on to tell you this:

I’m not blogging tomorrow.  I tried to SQUEEZE it in somewhere with my husband’s ardent help (“I’ll sleep in the living room so you can get up early and type!”).  Fact is, tomorrow I’ve got to get up early and make gingerbread and put it in the fridge.  Then I’ve got to hie to the computer desk and get my lesson plan worked out for preschool.  Then I’m going to teach preschool.  After that, it’s lunch and rest time during which I’ll bake and assemble my gingerbread house (along with two mini gingerbread houses for the childrens).  Once rest time is over, it will be time to decorate houses.  After that, I’ve got to get everything in order for Family Home Evening where we will discuss the Nativity and made gingerbread ornaments for the Relief Society party Tuesday night.  I’ll probably scrounge up some Hamburger Helper for dinner. Then I’ll hit the couch and crochet until my husband pulls out our scriptures and reminds me of our goal to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year.  I’m light years behind.  Light. Years.

But the good news is this:

I’m going to share with you my gingerbread house makings.  I’ll give you patterns (hopefully) and directions.  They aren’t polished or fancy, but they’re enough to get you started!

I’m also going to share with you some decorating I’ve been doing that hasn’t cost me a friggin’ penny.  I’m cheap like that (my cheapness is also prompting me to MAKE ornaments out of gingerbread instead of opting to BUY one from the store for the RS party).
That’s a drawer. I hung it on the wall. All by myself.

I’m also going to share with you how to make Nativity hand puppets out of felt. My mom had a set when we were growing up and I remember them so well! I learned the Nativity using them. Because I bought the supplies on a whim, without knowing exactly what I would need, my puppets aren’t as great as my ma’s. And my husband has informed me that Joseph looks less like Joseph and more like a ninja.
I’m only telling you that because it’s remarkably true.

I’m also going to tell you about our Thanksgiving holiday and how my daughter met Santa.

And I’ll need you to remind me to tell you the story about my Nativities and how I have them coming out of my ears (thanks to my Mom Brain).

Today we decorated our tree and (thanks to my little brother) made some more finger-licking GOOD caramel apples. I’ve got pictures and stories to share. I’ve got so much to tell you.
And miles to go before I sleep, let alone blog.
You know I love you, you know I’d do anything for you… just hold on a little longer. In the words of our most favorite cinematic couple, “I’ll never let go.”

I just need you to sit tight until Tuesdey.
Much obliged.

Filed Under: Family ·