Annie Valentine

I know the party is over but man, if I don’t record this for my mother and posterity I will hate myself forever.  So here is our Christmas photo recap because sometimes words just don’t cut it. I’m going to break it down for you. My favorite Christmas memories in whatever order they appear.

1. My sister Laura – Laura is number 9 and I’m number 11 in our family. She’s one of my best friends and has had a very big year. The girl needed a getaway so we coaxed her out to Germany for Christmas. She came for just over 2 weeks and we had such a wonderful time together. Strasbourg, Heidelberg, Rothenburg plus various castles and Christmas markets in between. It was awesome to have all that time together and awesome to share our Christmas traditions with her.

2. Bedouin Dinner – On Monday the 23rd we got together with some of our good friends and had a full blown Bedouin dinner Family Home Evening. My friends came over that afternoon and we tented my upstairs and hung lanterns and put candles everywhere, then we made traditional Bedouin dishes like Chicken Tagine and rice and all the other yummy middle eastern foods you eat with your hands when living in a tent. We lit the candles, played some soft Turkish music and ate on the floor in costume. It was A-MAZE-ING. Completely worth the 341 staples I had to pull out of my walls to take it all down. Sorry, no pictures of the event all lit up with costumes because cameras weren’t invented yet. Also I was too busy to take any pictures.

Before

After

3. Our 12 days of holy-cow-I-forgot-to-finish-the-Shepherd knock and run Nativity for the neighbors. Here’s a picture she sent me of the finished product, it was so much fun even if I was usually burning my fingers with hot glue every night at 9 pm. On Christmas Eve we took Baby Jesus over and did our traditional Mexican Caroling.

4. Mexican Caroling – Last year, in an attempt to convince my kids to go caroling, I came up with Mexican Caroling to make it sound better. We take maracas and instruments and sing Felize Navidad to our neighbors. This year we took my sister and our good friends the Pethels and the missionaries with us and went around my neighborhood. It was so cool, my German neighbors all got teary, who knew that song was so spiritual? We will do this every year until I die.

5. Our Homemade Christmas Angel gifts – There almost aren’t words for me to describe what a great experience this was. I must tell you, my kids wanted to do WAY more with it than I had scheduled for myself. I thought Rex would just spray a basket and throw a pillow in it but no, he had to MAKE a pillow with cotton balls. And then he had to make a blanket. And then he had to decorate the blanket with 10 hearts. Not one, not two, but ten. This kid did all the work himself, I didn’t tell him what to do (except to beg him to stop adding to his gift so I could finish the wise man due that night). He ran the pedal for all the sewing and wrapped it himself.

Harrison’s finished bear and June helping Georgia make my gift (thank you Daddy for taking a picture).

Just shy of 15 years ago I made Jason a quilt. We were dating and I found out he was still sleeping with the ratty old blanket his ex-girlfriend had made him before his mission. This threw me into a quilting frenzy. In my attempt to outdo her tackily tied POC (I hate ex-girlfriends) I kind of overshot. The batting was so thick by the time I was done hand quilting it that we have never been able to use it.

I cut it apart last spring to requilt it and surprise him for his birthday in May. Then I was going to have it ready for Father’s Day in June. Then our anniversary…you see where this is going.

I drew Jason’s name for Christmas and decided to get my act together and hand quilt the darn thing in December if it killed me.

It didn’t kill me. He was pretty impressed with the finished result.

But the best homemade gift came from Jason. Believe me, with two weeks to spare and kids who were working like mad on their gifts he started to have some serious anxiety.

“I’ve got no skills,” he said halfway through December. “I can’t make anything.”

“Wrong,” I said. “You took that framing class on base a few months ago. Print off some pictures of you and June and frame them. Go.” I had no time for whining from big people, he was on his own.

We gathered together in the living room on Christmas Eve with our angel gifts. My kids were so excited. We went youngest to oldest so Georgia gave me my new necklace first. Precious.

Next went June who gave Harrison his old chess set repainted and refurbished. He loved it.

Then Rex gave Georgia her gift. It was a huge hit.

After that Harrison gave Rex his gift. I don’t know if you happen to have boys and whether or not they get along, but mine aren’t always so patient with each other. As a mommy I like to imagine that they are best buds who do everything together even though the reality is usually morning shouting matches in the bathroom over who’s using the better sink. I think this gift was really special for them. 

I can’t begin to describe in words how much this brought Jason and June together. Jason is hard on June as a rule. She’s a big personality and has really challenged us. But when she was a baby she was his sweetheart and they adored each other. Working with all those old baby pictures definitely reminded him that she was just his little girl, and receiving them touched her six year old heart in an old soul way. See for yourself, the pictures tell it all. We were all ugly crying by the time the night was over.

It was a wonderful Christmas and I’m trying really hard not to think about this being our last over here in this non-commercialized, Savior centered country where there is no Target to distract me from what really matters. I only hope next year I can take what we’ve learned and build on it.

So here’s to our upcoming goals and changes and plans and dreams. My word this year was going to be skinny but even I can’t bring myself to be that shallow (unless shallow means thin then perhaps it’s a contender as well). Instead I’m going with plucky. This year I want to be brave and happy and open and resiliant and I’ve decided that “plucky” is just the word for me.

Happy New Year, it’s going to be a big one.

Here’s the link to our family singing Feliz Navidad.

My sister has finally launched her first book. This will be closely followed by a second, third, fourth fifth and hundredth. I’m a huge Anne McCafrey fan and I love it when an author creates a sci-fi world and then sticks with it for a series–that’s what Jenny has done here. 

Jenny’s book is usually only $3.99 but it’s on promo right now and you can get it FOR FREE until the 28th. That’s 48 hours for you to jump on the Baxter train and get a good book to read while you procrastinate taking down your Christmas decoration. 

I love her books and she has let me be part of the editing process. I might or might not have used that opportunity to get back at her for all the rotten things she did as a kid. Or I might just be a really good editor. I’ll never tell…

So here’s the inside scoop, an interview with my almost-almost-a-vampire sister. The book does not have vampires in it, by the way. Unfortunately.

1. We know your book has misfits in it and we know they take a journey. Since it’s the Christmas season, how would you compare your misfits to Santa’s? Is their journey going to be as successful? 

I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me this question. The answer is, that my misfits are exactly like Santa’s – except that they’re completely different. For example, they really want to get out of the Federation (i.e. ‘off their island’), but at the same time none of them are polka dotted, and they don’t have square wheels. It’s really a fascinating comparison and I could go on, and on, and on – but I won’t. As for whether or not their journey will be successful… Well, let’s just say that none of them get thrown down any chimneys. But then again, (considering the comparison) is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

2. Let’s talk about your caste system. Will you briefly describe the three classes in the Federation? Which class do you think I would belong in? 

In the Select Class (so called because of their highly coveted ‘selected’ genetics) you have fair-haired, blue- or green-eyed, pleasantly not-so-skinny people who get to tell everyone else what to do. The Middlers are not-so-fair-haired, hazel-eyed, more fit people who basically hold management positions. The Popular Class is made up of the general populous, and reflects the indigenous genetics of the North American Continent at the time of my story: blackish-brown hair, dark brown eyes, and bronze colored skin. They’re modified further to be tall, muscular, and lean.

And where would you fit in? Well you’re bossy, blonde, and blue-eyed – but unfortunately you’re WAY too skinny to be a Select. (Although, it is the Christmas season, so maybe by New Year’s?) Plus, there’s always the fact that your blonde highlights aren’t quite 100% your own (I’m sure it’s really close…), so with all things considered (including the fact that you do love to ‘manage’) I think I’d have to call you a Middler.

3. Sometimes I want to throw Laryn out the window because she’s so stubborn. Who was your muse and where did you channel her personality from? 

If only it had been that simple. I must confess that in the beginning I did have someone I was fashioning Laryn after – but she kind of had a mind of her own, and she simply refused to be put into that box. (I actually almost threw her and the book out the window myself a few times, so I know exactly what you mean.) She simply refused to be the character I thought I wanted to write. Very frustrating. We battled it out for about six months – i.e. I let the book sit and refused to touch it at all (take THAT Laryn!) – but in the end she proved to be even more stubborn than I am. She finally emerged as an individual different from anyone I know, and as someone I’d really love to meet. I would seriously love to have her on my team.

4. What is Laryn’s love language? What is Kieff’s? 

I totally had to google that. Hmmm. Laryn’s is definitely not gifts – receiving gifts all the time would probably make her feel uncomfortable. And it’s not acts of service either, although both things do mean a lot to her. I would say…quality time. Time itself is rather valuable to a misfit from the Federation, and I think that just knowing someone would choose to spend theirs with her would be a pretty powerful thing. I’m thinking that Kieff’s, on the other hand, is acts of service. It might not appear to be so on the surface, but underneath I think that explains a lot about the development of their relationship.

5. How many Nequam books do you have tucked away in your mind ready to write? 

As in, the one’s I already have plotted out? Or the infinite number of possible places I could go with this? Currently, I have five books lined up: Laryn Rising, Book Two (which is the second half of Laryn’s story), Book Three (a prequel set on Nequam, which is the planet they’re headed for), Book Four (the story of girl from the Federation who arrives in Nequam the same time as Laryn), and Book Five (set in Nequam 200 years after Laryn and the other Fed girls arrive). Book Two is already finished and in the final stages of editing/publishing, and Book Three is in the works.

6. A large portion of your story takes place in space. The book Enders Game also takes place in space. How would you compare the two space stories, since obviously space stories are all alike, right? 

Totally. I probably should have named it Laryn’s Game. I mean, there are stars, and space stuff, and (a few minor characters) wearing spaceship uniforms, and I’m pretty sure Laryn has one or two dreams. There aren’t any freaky giants or snakes in them, but other than that you can see that the two books are virtually identical. Oooo! And Laryn and Ender both have two siblings! Niether of Laryn’s are psycho or named after a holiday, but who’s splitting hairs?

Then again, Ender doesn’t kiss anyone, does he? There might be a slight departure there… And she isn’t exactly trying to save the world – she’s just leaving it. Ender doesn’t get to ride horses, grow vegetables, or learn to cook at his space school, but he probably would have had WAY more fun if those had been options, don’t you think? So basically, I’d say we’re back to Santa’s misfits – all space books are pretty much exactly the same, except that they’re so completely different. Wouldn’t you say?

And there you have it folks! Now go get her book and support your local author.

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.