But I must. This Christmas clock is a ticking time bomb and I am like a keg of dynamite ready to go at any second.

Lucky for me my sister Laura is here for a few weeks spending her Christmas with us. Now I am thankful–oh so very thankful–that us Mormons do not practice polygamy. Those days are super duper long gone and nothing could make me happier.

But I’ve got to tell you, having an extra set of Sister hands around this place is like working with four arms. I really wish she didn’t have kids and a home to go back to because I’d like to keep her locked up in the guest room forever. She is the world’s greatest company. If you’re looking to have someone over for an extended visit pick Laura. She does dishes and folds clothes and is really good at not judging when you yell at the kids.

The pinch, friends, the pinch is pinching. Please tell me I’m not the only one who is up to my gilly-gopper in almost finished Christmas projects.

We decided at the beginning of the month to do the 12 days of Christmas with homemade Nativity figures for our neighbors directly across the street. I’ve made plenty of rice snowmen and decided it would be fairly simple to use the sock technique for nativity figures.

I found an old unused stable in my decorations and bought socks at the dollar store. A bag of rice, and voila! Easy peasy.

I have four days left and there is no baby Jesus, manger, angel or…whatever we’re taking the last day. Unfortunately we started a day early and I think our last day is going to have to consist of us Mexican caroling with a loaf of bread.

But as much hassle as this project is it is also the most hilarious thing I’ve ever done with my kids. My house is a literal fish bowl. The main level (level 3) has floor to ceiling windows that look out over the street. When you drive up at night we are always lit up like a candle and you can see my kids running around in their underwear. We are also very not sound-proof. All the Germans in the village walk past our house to get to the walking trails, and they all stare as they go.

So when I send my kids out to the neighbor’s directly across the street to drop, ring and run with their daily Christmas offering, I usually sit down with a warm drink in the dining room and watch the show.

They think they’re so sneaky.

They creep across the street until the neighbor’s motion sensor light illuminates them. That’s usually when Cloe, the neighbor’s dog, goes crazy barking. They crawl up the stairs on hands and knees and set down their chubby offering, then ring the bell and run like a snotty nose on a cold winter’s eve.

That’s when I usually see the neighbor come to the door and wait. And wait and wait and wait.

Once they’ve circled the house and returned to the opposite side of the porch to perch and wait (instead of coming back across the road), he finally opens the door and with shock and awe, retrieves the daily cast member. We look at each other through the window and smile while my little kids cover their mouths and try not to breath and accidentally give themselves away.

The door closes and they laugh and skip their way home.

I am really ready to get this show on the road, my list is long and detailed and I’m starting to get snappy and sassy with all these last minute finishes. But I have to admit that no matter what my mood is, watching this parody play out every night has been my favorite thing of the season. I hate, I absolutely hate, that we won’t be here in this wonderful old house next year. I hope Las Vegas will have its own kind of magic.

We are a week away from The Big Eve and I’m starting to wonder if I can actually chew and swallow this big huge bite of Christmas I’ve taken on. Yesterday I sequestered my three oldest children in separate rooms of the house and decided it was time to get this homemade Christmas nonsense checked off my list.

Harrison found a great teddy bear tutorial that I mentioned last week. Our bear is polar so I had planned to use white thread. Unfortunately my white bobbin is lost somewhere under the layers of rice and Christmas fabric and quilt batting and office paper and paint projects and pajama fleece and empty diet coke cups from the base gas station. I had to use red instead.

Biggest. Blessing. Ever.

I’ve been sewing for years. I have worked on and invented costumes and stuffed animals and quilts and formal wear–how hard can a little bear be?

It was the left arm. I sewed it on wrong and had to carefully pick through the fragile fleece to find the red stitches. So I looked it over and pinned it on again. Wrong. Picked it, sewed it. Picked it again, sewed it again. Wrong wrong wrong. Harrison finally turned Elf on the computer because he was bored to death and slightly frightened watching me curse under my breath while trying to delicately rip the arm off the bear.

The fifth time I finally figured it out. I spent more time unpicking that one arm than we did sewing all the other pieces together. He finally asked if he could just “push the gas pedal” and let me feed the fabric into the machine to avoid any more delays.

Once the bear was mostly finished (head still needs to be attached) I gave him the rest of the night off and got June (6) started on her project, painting Harrison’s old wooden chess set pieces. She’s so easy and loves her independence, I set her up and three minutes later she kicked me out so she could work “alone.”

There was no getting around it: I had to face the music and coral Rex into doing Georgia’s gift.

Rex likes to have his own ideas. I knew that going into this, but in order to keep him from making Georgia a toilet-paper tube dinosaur launcher I knew I’d have to feed him my ideas until he spit them back out again.

“So Rex, can you think of anything Georgia likes?”

“Hmm, she likes my animals,” he said.

“Yes…um…hey! What about babies, do you think she likes babies?”

“Oh sure! Georgia loves babies!”

“What a great idea, you can make her something for her babies! Hey, does she have a baby bed yet?”

“Well…no…but I want to make–”

“Good thinking! You can make her a baby bed!”

“Wait, but I don’t want to make Georgia a present! I want to make Harrison a present!”

And round and round we went. I finally forced him into boots and a coat and outside to the back yard where “his” project for Georgia was waiting. I know I could have let him make her something with straws and duct tape but I really wanted him to think about something she would like, not just something that was fun for him to do with his recycled craft supplies. I had picked up a slightly broken whicker basket from the side of the road last week and bought a can of pink spray paint. Once he finally realized he could use the spray painter his qualms flew out the window and he got down to business.

Then he went and got two bags of cotton balls and informed me that he wanted to fill it with cotton balls so it would be soft and cozy. Cotton balls. Seriously. Kill me now. I asked for it.

This year, per the suggestion of my darlingest friend Christy which can be found here (I’ve been picking up free-lance stuff for the newspaper to help feed the children), we decided to do a partially homemade Christmas.

“We” is code for “Me.” I’m the mother, I’m the Christmas queen, and I decide how Christmas is going to happen.

The rules were simple. Draw your Christmas Angel name, read it SILENTLY, throw it in the fire and spend the rest of the month doing secretly sneaky nice things for them. Oh, and make a little gift will you? The night we drew names Rex had to draw four times before we finally convinced him to not read it out loud.

I would love to report that Jason was on board for this project but if I’m the Christmas queen then he is the Grinch’s first cousin twice removed. He’s not against Christmas or even cheap, just frequently cheerless and occasionally grumpy. He did not warm to my whole “make a gift” suggestion. I think his exact words were, “I’m not doing that.”

When your kids are 10 and under it goes without saying that every serious craft project needs, at the least, some serious adult supervision and at the most a band of elves. I think my ears are starting to get pointy; I feel like I’m on a steady diet of DIY holiday fruitcake.

Harrison has Rex’s name this year. Like every 10 year old on the planet he thinks he can do anything and that it will only take five minutes. He insisted that we make Rex a teddy bear. I really don’t want to tell him what to do–only assist–and so despite my reservations I couldn’t bring myself to shut him down. He watched at least three youtube tutorials.

But have you ever sewn a teddy bear? It’s not exactly a beginner project.

And that is how we ended up locked in the office for two hours on Sunday afternoon. I wasn’t really looking forward to it but the 27th time Harry asked me when we could work on Rex’s present I decided to bite the pin cushion and get it over with.

Five minutes into cutting out pattern pieces Harry asked how long it was going to take.

But I have to admit we had an absolute blast. He is now totally amazed at my sewing skills and cannot believe that we made those pieces come together into a bear. The best part: he told me four times, “I really love doing projects like this with you, Mom.” It was one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done as a mother and I can’t wait to finish up the bear this week (he is SO proud of it and I’m SO proud of him).

One down, two to go…

I’m a very lazy reader. If a book or post doesn’t have something to do with vampires or a future apocalyptic meltdown I’m usually too busy to pay attention.

But I was on facebook today sending a message and a post from an old friend caught my eye. Her name is Ginny Beckes and she’s really one of my mother’s friends, but some people are ageless and I like to claim her as my own. Here’s what she says:

“Been thinking about an LDS news story about a Bishop who dressed up like a vagrant and attended his own ward. Hoorah for the idea and the story but let me tell you about College Park Ward here in the DC area.

It is not only ethnically diverse with members from many nations but also culturally diverse with converts; old timers who are the glue that keeps the ward running from year to year; young married post grad students who cycle in and out yearly but are fully active while they are here. It is also full of many handicapped, elderly and poverty stricken people. I have never seen a ward be more accepting of each other or take better care of each other. Yes, they have a terribly long ‘unassigned list’ but they care about it (and give it to us to work with.)

They have their own personal vagrant. Most Sundays he comes in the door as soon as it is unlocked and sleeps on the couch with his various bags and collections in front of him. Recently I was standing nearby and watched as members surreptitiously stooped by his bags, dropped something in and went on in to the chapel. By the time he shambles into the chapel it is getting full yet people move over, not to distance themselves, but to make room for him. Children sit next to him, fascinated and parents only remove them if they are pestering, not to distance them from him. He is usually wrapped in dirty blankets and smells bad but I have noted that the blankets change and often a clean one is sitting on the couch and a dirty one left behind. Not long ago I stopped abruptly and turned around while leaving the chapel, he was behind me and I nearly crashed into him but for the first time looked him directly in the eyes. They were clear, intelligent and probing. I found it disconcerting, wondering why I had never really looked at him before. I was left wondering what is he doing for us instead of what are we doing for him?

Have a wonderful Christmas. Our Savior Jesus Christ came to save all mankind. We desire to be His disciples by serving others just as He would. I know that He lives and that He loves us, every one of us. He expects us to love one another in the same way. It is the work of our lives, but such personally refining work as we serve others. This is my testimony in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

I think I’ll try a little harder to see the Savior in the people around me this week. He is everywhere, isn’t He?

Let’s talk about biting off more than you can chew.

You know how you start a project that sounds theoretically simple? That’s what my Mrs. Claus Affair stuff is supposed to be. Send a few emails, adopt a few families, make dinner, do some laundry, clean up puke (one of those weeks)…you know.

But when a “few” emails start breeding in the inbox and suddenly you’re looking at names that all blur together it gets…time consuming.

And these letters. I’m telling you there are some amazing women out there. It appears some service dude told his friend and suddenly I’m getting these beautiful requests from  husbands all over the globe, telling me about their sweethearts. Women who are going above and beyond. I’ve even had two dads nominated this year which is so awesome.

On Tuesday I found myself looking at 8 names with no one to help. On Wednesday the number was up to 10. By Thursday it was 13 and nominations were closed. Oh, that looming list of wonderful spouses who deserve a little Christmas remembering. So many of these soldiers get limited access even to the computer and have no means of shipping or shopping. I’ve had nominations for women who have lost children this year, been alone for Christmas two years in a row, are dealing with 5 kids and a new littler of 11 puppies while finishing up a master’s degree (one of my favorites), and the list goes on and on.

I’ve been feeling serious sympathy pains for the inn keeper this week. How do you tell someone there’s no room at the inn?

Instead I’ve sent these husbands emails asking them to please pray that Heavenly Father will send me names and they’ve responded with a resounding yes. I sent out emails asking for help, but by Friday morning I was sweating it.

I’m not prone to anxiety but let me tell you, I was starting to think I’d have to rearrange my Christmas budget and take care of them all myself. It was enough to keep me sucking down Diet Coke all day long (which might have added to my racing heart, just saying).

And then by some miracle I got home last night and checked my TMCA email and was greeted with a full fledged Christmas miracle. There were requests for 12 of my 13 names. It was like pennies from Heaven were filling up my email account.

My last name was this dad in Texas who I’ve been trying to find the right person to place with. I went to bed satisfied that Jason and I could take care of him and get something in the mail Monday, but when I woke up this morning there was an email from a pastor offering to help with him. He’s the first man who has offered to help and it was like a match made in Heaven.

Miracles and Christmas and gifting and chocolate, these are seriously a few of my favorite things.

Last year I invented our own deceptively simple Advent system for Christmas. My grandmother passed away ten years ago and left behind her Depression Era hoard of fabric to my sister, Laura. Paired with more old pieces from our Great Aunt Edith, Laura has been gifting me with random bolts and scraps to use at will, including a huge bag of quilting scraps that aren’t big enough for anything but quilts (which I will post about sometime in the next seven years). As you can see I’ve put them to good use.

Every bag contains a little treat and a slip of paper with a daily Christmas activity. This looks really fancy and my kids think it’s super cool but in actuality the activities are things like, “Say something you love about Junie” or “Call Grandparents and tell them you love them.” Today is “Come up with a family Christmas Cheer.”

In order to fool them into remembering me as being Christmas Wonder Mom I have peppered our days with a few more intricate activities (about 4) that actually require a little time and effort on my part. Last night was my favorite, “Drink hot cocoa under the stars.” Well, theoretically my favorite. It sounds so cool and Christmasy.

Will I ever learn?

We didn’t get off to the best start. Jason got home late and wanted to eat dinner so Harrison went outside and attempted to build his first unsupervised fire in our patio pit. To think I was worried that he might actually start something on fire.

Georgia ignored all threats of Christmas giftlessness and rolled around the kitchen floor bawling for half an hour while Jason took forever to eat his soup. Rex was knee deep in his flying invention and wanted no part of drinking hot anything, and the fire looked like…wood. The only kid who was happy was Junie. I was highly suspicious that Hell was experiencing a heavy frost.

By the time we all made it out to our struggling flames my blood pressure was up. I pulled out the Christmas devotional book and we started into the first verse of “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” For the record, I make my kids sing all the verses of every single song at our evening devotionals. They will thank me someday.

Rex insisted that he didn’t want hot cocoa, he wanted to roast marshmallows. In lieu of a stick he went and found a dried up weed that had crumbling leaves and an eight inch brown stem. He dropped his first two stale (probably from last Christmas) marshmallows into the fire. The third got doused with lighter fluid by Dad.

One verse into the song and two marshmallows into the pit and Rex went running into the house in tears. We paused the carol, I threatened Rex with no gifts and escorted him by his ear back out to the fire pit and took up my position once more. I was met with comments like, “This is ridiculous, let’s put them all to bed,” and “My cocoa is cold!” and “Dad, can you spray some more of that stuff on the wood to make the fire big again?”

It takes so much effort to feel the Christmas spirit.

But. We launched once again into the song and made it to the end. I started to read our daily Christmas story and my kids all settled down with their cocoa. Halfway through the story Georgia came to sit by me. She had left her cocoa on the other side of the table and immediately started to whine about it.

I must pause here to explain that we draw top secret names every year and call them our Christmas Angels. You have to secretly do nice things for whoever you get and make them a homemade gift. My kids are really into it this year and they all have each other’s names.

Anyway, June gets up to take whiny Georgia her cup of cocoa and I say, “Oh June, how kind! Maybe June is Georgia’s Christmas Angel!”

Then Rex, who DOES have Georgia’s name, realized he missed his chance. “Oh,” he says, “Here Georgia, you can have my hot cocoa too.”

“No thanks,” she said.

Rex has a super tender heart and his chin hit his chest at his epic angel failure. “Oh!” he said.

Harrison was watching this whole thing and is Rex’s Christmas angel. He jumped in to save the day. “Uh, I’d love to have your hot cocoa, Rex!”

“Really?” Rex said and enthusiastically (spilling it as it changed hands) shared with his brother, who was taking it just to be nice.

But of course June, who is Harrison’s Christmas angel, felt bad that someone else was sharing their cocoa with him so she said, “Here Harrison, would you like the rest of my cocoa too?”

It was one of those circle of life moments as a parent when everything is right in the world. It might have required routine douses with lighter fluid, off-key caroling and stale marshmallows but last night was the best Christmas moment I’ve ever had. These little kids are my reason for the season.

Let’s talk about this Elf on the Shelf business.

I’m not a big fan of fads (unless they make me skinny then I’m a walking infomercial). I’ve had a Pinterest account for how long and I can count on ten fingers how many sessions I’ve spent “pinning” things on the computer in the past year. No time, too busy doing…I have no idea what I do all day. It’s just not Pinterest.

But on December 26th last year my husband went to the post office and brought home a mail delayed Christmas gift from my sister-in-law, Tiffany. There is nothing better than finding an unexpected Christmas present the day after Christmas. It’s like putting on a winter coat from last year and finding a five dollar bill in the pocket. That’s three Snickers bars and a Diet Coke just waiting to happen.

We cracked it opened and discovered the multi-million dollar Christmas craze that someone got smart enough to put a price tag on–Elf on the Shelf.

Oh, we had an elf on the shelf growing up. He even had a name and I can remember that my mom thought he was really special. But according to the book, he wasn’t just any old elf. Elves who live in houses are really secret scout elves, specifically assigned to watch little children and report back to Santa. I probably would have stayed out of my mother’s closet during the month of December and done a little less corner tearing of gifts if I’d have realized someone was watching.

So this was our first year with “Yodel.” We broke him out last weekend and I have to tell you, I’m a believer. Christmas is real, Santa is true, and this elf has already been the best thing that ever happened to Christmas in my house.

I really thought that at 10 years old we would lose Harrison to the dark side this year. But when I came into the living room for the much anticipated opening of the Elf Box and found my four little kids sitting on the couch, HOLDING HANDS, I knew we were in for a great Christmas.

That night after reading the book and placing the box in its revered place on top of the piano, Harrison literally did the dishes, cleaned the upstairs family room, and took a shower the first time I asked. I think he said “yes Mom!” at least 17 times. I had to hold myself in check from asking him to perform nonsensical chores like dusting for cobwebs and reorganizing the basement.

Of course, no elf could exist in this household if he didn’t get lazy and skip his second night on duty. My kids came running into our bedroom at 6 am on Sunday morning (we got him out a day or two early) to tell us, tears streaming, that someone had touched the elf and he’d lost his magic.

Thank goodness for smartphone alarms. It just blared, time to go move the elf.

I was talking to my mom last week and she mentioned the Relief Society had asked her to give a talk on gratitude. The very thought of it made me groan.

I think I must be a Thanksgiving scrooge. Maybe I just want Christmas to hurry up and get here already so I can spend money at the Christmas markets, but this year I am literally forcing myself to give Thanksgiving lessons to my kids. And everything I say feels so…heartless. I keep stuffing little thankful thoughts into our big countdown pocket calendar that hangs on my kitchen door (thank you sweet Lindsey) but last week I was feeling thanked out. Being thankful for clean sheets has kind of lost it’s originality around here. And I really do love hugs and Jason and heated floors, but this year it feels too repetitive.

And then my mother told me about her lesson. “You know,” she said, “When I look back at my life and make a list of all the things I’m grateful for, they are all the hardest things. Going through my divorce, money problems, trouble with relationships–all the things that were so difficult and painful at the time are the things I’m thankful for the most.”

This really resonated with me. It took up my brain power for an entire day, I couldn’t get it out of my head and I’ve been thinking about it all week long.

I had a hard day today. It wasn’t monumentally hard, no one lost a leg or an eye, although I did find out my Macy’s account automatic bill pay hasn’t worked the past two months. Still, nothing earth-shattering occurred. It was just a good old-fashioned difficult, crappy day where not even a Dr. Pepper 10 could fix my troubles.

After 42 minutes of playing Mahjong this evening (because that’s really going to mend my soul) I decided maybe I should attempt something more Sundayish and holy and went to the main mormon website (lds.org) for a little anti-pity-party inspiration. I clicked on the first heading I saw and it was a talk by President Monson from conference last month.

Of course, it was exactly what I needed to hear and I thought again about what my mom had said about being thankful for the crappy things.

June overheard me talking about why Grandma was thankful for the sad stuff the other day and wanted me to explain it to her.

“Well,” I said, “It’s the hard things that reminds us to ask Heavenly Father for help and support. It’s the hard things that make us closer to Him. Grandma is thankful for the things that have brought her closer to God and given her a good excuse to pray more often.”

That night when June said her prayers she said, “And I’m thankful…for all the hard stuff because it helps me pray more.” She’s not even six yet, I love that girl. She’s been one of my favorite hard things.

Have you ever had a week where you said the D-Word (dam#), and then whether you meant to or not it kind of started pouring out of your mouth every time you stubbed your toe or dropped the salt or realized 30 seconds too late that there was no toilet paper?

This was one of those weeks.

I did not have a lovely morning. My not lovely morning came on the tail of a terrible night’s half-sleep, the kind of night where you’re upset at your husband so you try not to touch him all night long, then end up never falling into a deep sleep because every time you do you accidentally brush his leg with your disloyal wandering foot and quickly surface long enough to fight the urge to cuddle up next to him…it was that kind of night.

My day was full of all sorts of obnoxious mishaps, including forgetting my wallet and identification and not realizing it until I got to the Ramstein gate. If you depend on money and ID for every transaction and interaction, this is a serious problem–especially when you’re out of gas.

Of course, I had to call Jason who had to chaperone me all over base while I kept him from his important work with obnoxiously necessary errands.

But the real low light came when I dropped Georgia off at pre-school co-op. This week belonged to one of the most lovely, delightful girls I’ve ever met. The kind that is wholesome and pure and only has pictures of Jesus up, the kind of woman I hope to someday become-ish. Mostly, she’s a girl I really want to be friends with.

This was the first chance we’ve had to kind of get to know each other. We visited about our families and the curriculum and basic mommy-speak before I bid her farewell, feeling super good that I’d maybe made myself a new friend. The kids all headed over to see me out the door and I smiled and went to shut the door when…

BAM!!

I slammed my thumb in the door. This was almost instantaneously followed by…

“DAMN!!” That’s right, straight from the horse’s mouth.

I don’t know which thing horrified her more, my bleeding thumb or my foul language. Really? I just met this girl, I like her. I want to be her friend. And that’s her first real impression of me?

Damn.

She did promise not to tell anyone, so we’ll just keep my dirty language between us.

Last year my dearest, darlingest friend Rebecca and I organized a wild project called The Mrs. Claus Affair. We realized there were a number of amazing wives and mothers who are left behind at overseas assignments here in Germany while their spouses are stuck in a far away deployment. They are so good about care packages for others, but come Christmas morning these amazing women routinely find themselves empty-handed next to the Christmas tree. Many of our soldiers and service members simply don’t have easy access to shopping and shipping. They work long, grueling hours. We realized there was a great little opportunity here to help everyone out.

Enter Mrs. Claus.  

We did a fabulous fundraiser, thanks to some awesome photographers–Geneva Chugg who just finished my family photos, and Sharma Shumate who is such a talented girl in every single aspect of her life–and had local people from our Ramstein area submit names of women who would be husbandless on Christmas morning.

Our goals were simple:

1. Provide something personal to place under their tree–not a gift card or cash–to be opened on Christmas morning. Something nice.

2. Keep the donations and participants anonymous.

3. Make Christmas a little better and brighter for someone who is far from home and far from family.

We had a number of deployed men submit their wives’ names, including a detailed description of their likes and dislikes. Then we took our fundraiser money and spent about $75 on each one of our 20 or so women. We kind of rocked the gift packages.

It was amazing. We delivered their gifts the week before Christmas and I kid you not, it was incredible. I hugged and cried and celebrated on doorsteps with women who were literally speechless that someone had remembered them, had remembered their sacrifice, had recognized just how hard it is to be on this side of the coin. These ladies are special. They must be remembered. They must!

My friend has moved and I’m not going to be able to do the fund raiser this year. However, after talking to my girlfriend Hollee I realized that The Mrs. Claus Affair can still reach out to others, we’re just going to modify our packaging.

So. If you would like to be part of The Mrs. Claus Affair this year, please email me and I will hook you up to adopt someone from the Ramstein Military Community who will be alone for Christmas. You can be part of this magical Christmas event. This year it will be a little different, so here are the instructions.

1. Send me your contact information

2. I will assign you the name of a wife that is going solo this Christmas, including her mailing address plus contact information for a close friend or relative who can tell you something about her.

3. Prepare a personal Christmas gift to send her, wrapped and ready to go under the tree. We will have a letter for you to include in your package explaining a little about The Mrs. Claus Affair. Packages will ship directly from you to your assigned military support family member. 

4. MAIL PACKAGES BY THANKSGIVING. You must send it Priority and it must go out by Thanksgiving or it very likely won’t make it by Christmas, no matter what the post office tells you.

So let’s make this year’s Christmas season something special. Adopt one of Mrs. Claus’ girlfriends today!

Send emails to: themrsclausaffair@gmail.com and I will personally hook you up with someone who could use the love and support your family has to offer. 

Friends! Please post this to facebook and anywhere else you can think of, let’s see how many families we can help this year. There’s a FB button right under this post. Go on, do it!

Much love from Me and Mrs. Claus!