Cookies For Christmas

Today I am sharing something Kathleen posted recently about our Sunday school littles.  

Are you busy? I have been so busy this year! Does it make me feel accomplished? Not at all. It just makes me feel weary and tired.

That said, sometimes what I have been busy with is my littles at church. We have seen a lot of them in these last few weeks (more than normal) with extra activities and such. They have the opposite effect on me--they don't know about stress or weariness. They have no concept of the impact of all the politics and shut downs, caregiving woes, financial hardships. They just live in the moment.

This past Sunday we talked about Advent (like we do every week in December). We took them to see the lighting of the candles in "big church" where they wiggled and giggled and squirmed to the delight of most and the cringing of their parents. During the lighting of the Joy candle, the little next to me leaned in and very quietly asked "Ms Katleen, why do we always light candles in big church?"  I answered saying we do it to remember that we are getting ready to celebrate Jesus. We have the week of Hope, then Peace, and then Joy. Next week we have Love. That satisfied for the moment and the wriggling continued.

Shortly after big church, we were back in the classroom for story time. I reviewed our last two weeks--the prophecy telling of Jesus, the Angel talking to Joseph, and went directly into week three: the Angel telling Mary and Mary's announcement to Elizabeth.

There was so much wiggling and poking and giggling. I was quite certain no one was listening--like I wanted to throw in the story time towel and move into snack time. Giving it one last shot, I asked the same little who'd been next to me before in big church if they were listening to me at all. A confident "no" was the reply. Big sigh. I asked if they knew what the angel said. Reply: do not be scared, Mary was going to have a baby. I asked what did Mary do? Reply: she went to tell her cousin. I asked who was that? Reply: Elizabeth. She was having a baby, too. He was John. He jumped for joy in her tummy. Then the giggles and wiggles continued.

Find your hope, peace and joy wherever you can friends. I know where I find mine.

Under The Library Lamp

Have we reached the part of the holiday season where we are crossing items off our lists simply because we have run out of time to do them? Every single blessed year, I overplan, overschedule, and underestimate how long everything will take. Even when I tell myself I am aiming for a low-key approach, I manage to put far too much on my list. 

Do I have time to do 25 days of day drinking and crafting? Honestly? I started in October and I am still down to the wire on one last video. I had an entire year to write 25 Christmas blog entries, and somehow I am behind again. I was ahead for a while. I had entries prescheduled. And then suddenly… here we are.

In light of the limited time left in the holiday season, and the sheer number of activities still competing for space, I want to share one of my mom’s best pieces of holiday advice. Like many people, my mom was a list maker. Things to do. Things to get. Things to remember. At the end of every day, it mattered that you looked at the list and crossed items off.

Here is the secret, and the most important part of her system. Every day, you cross things off the list. Even if you did not accomplish the task. You make a decision. It is not getting done, and you cross it off anyway.

So far this holiday season, I have crossed off gifting all of the decorations from my day drinking and crafting videos to friends. I have crossed off multiple menu items, even though I really did want to eat them.

Crossing something off without doing it is not failure. It is an act of clarity. It is choosing what matters most with the time and energy you actually have, not the version of yourself you imagined back in October. The list does not get to decide your worth, and the holidays do not require completion to be meaningful. Sometimes the most generous thing we can do is let an item go, draw a line through it, and move on lighter than we were before.

Last-Minute Gifts for the Home Lover

Saturday was our annual Christmas party. As I mentioned, the menu was over the top. Far more food than was needed to feed the thirty or so attendees. I imagine we will be sharing leftovers with neighbors and friends for days to come.

A recurring joke in years past is whether or not I will remember the punch ladles. Once—once—when the party was held at the firefighters’ hall, I forgot them and had to run to a local store to buy something that would make do. Soup ladles. I did not forget them this year.

We did, however, encounter another small issue.

When we used to host the party at our house every year, these things never came up. But once we outgrew our home and moved the celebration elsewhere, the logistics of serving dishes, cups, glasses, and the like became more complicated. At home, we are well stocked. Party plates for a hundred guests, easily. Enough serving platters and bowls that I could triple the menu and still be fine. Wine glasses, punch cups, holiday-themed old-fashioned glasses, Christmas mugs—we are golden.

Serving utensils, however, are another matter.

At home, we simply default to extra forks or spoons from the silverware drawer. When you’re hosting at a venue that is not your own, that solution is not always available.

Several years ago, Kathleen purchased two sets of catering-style serving utensils specifically for parties. Last year, while washing and transporting dishes back to Matthew’s house, I noticed we seemed to be short on them, so I supplemented with extras from our own kitchen. Around that same time, Matthew had received a set of silverware as a gift from a young woman he was seeing, for his new house.

After last year’s party, all the plates, dishes, and assorted paraphernalia were packed into storage tubs and returned to our home, where they stayed. This year, I simply transported the tubs back to Matthew’s and washed everything for use at the party. I did notice, however, that there were no serving utensils beyond the aforementioned ladles. I picked up an assortment of plastic disposables during one of my errands.

I did not pick up enough.

As we were setting out the food, much to my embarrassment, people kept asking where the serving utensils were. Eventually, I had to rely on Matthew’s silverware. That was when I learned that when he and his lady friend ended their relationship, she took back the silverware she had given him. He has been making do with three place settings and a handful of larger spoons ever since.

So, regardless of whatever advice the December 1925 issue of Better Homes and Gardens offered for “Last-Minute Gifts for the Home Lover,” I believe the most appropriate gifts this year are clear: serving utensils for me, and a full set of silverware for Matthew.

The Cooks Round Table

Even the earliest editions of the Better Homes and Gardens included an article dedicated to sharing recipes, one homemaker to another.  While I’m refraining from sharing the recipe for batter fried celery from December 1925, let us ponder this instead.

What happens when you plan a menu?  I have shared before that our Christmas party menu is egregious in its excess.  There is Always way too much food.  Unnecessarily so.  Honestly, there really isn’t a good reason to be so over the top with it, but we are.  Kathleen had remarked recently that she had been asked if we go overboard on our party menu in order to “keep up with the Joneses?”  The truth is, there are no Joneses.  I don’t believe other people have parties like ours.  At least not ones that aren’t catered.  Or maybe they do, but we just don’t get invited to them?

This week is party prep week, and as Kathleen and I sat down to make the menu, her father asked what we were up to.  Kat said we were planning the menu, and I shared the oft repeated memory of when the boys were still in elementary school, saw the planned menu list, and added foods they thought we should have.  Paul added ham, because everyone loves ham, and Matthew added mozzarella, tomato, and basil appetizers because his gramma still had fresh basil growing on her basil plant.  Not the usual suggestions you would expect from children.

Then as Kathleen and I began making the list, her father was right there, making suggestions.  Have we ever served tortilla espanola at a Christmas party? No, not at a Christmas party, but plenty of other parties.  When was the last time we had little smokies?  Good question, it’s been a few years.  Deviled eggs were discussed.  When we got to the sweets, he was as eager as the boys had been, offering suggestions and alternatives.  He even tried to recall the secret family fudge recipe from memory to see if he could.  

He wasn’t the only one adding new things to the menu.  I managed to get a dirty martini dip on the list, and a marinated charcuterie I have been trying to get on the menu for a year or two.  Kathleen made some serious restrictions on the candy making, but, and also, yet, still… we will have to see if she can maintain her self control when she is actually in the kitchen making the candy.  

Kathleen has shared before that it never feels like Christmas to her, until we are in the middle of party preparation.  That for her, and for the rest of our family, this is our way of sharing our love with our friends and extended family.  So yes, the menu is too much, way, way too much, but it brings us holiday joy.

Dad's Practical Pointers

In preparation for this article, I spent some time thinking about the things I have taught my sons, both intentionally and by accident. After working up the courage, I asked them for their thoughts. Surprisingly, they were both eager to share.

Matthew told me that I taught him how to change a tire. He remembers it vividly. I was taking him to soccer practice while we were living in Denver when we had a blowout. I was dressed in work clothes with dress shoes, and we were already running late. He recalls that I stayed calm and matter-of-fact, showing him what to do as we went along. He added that every time he has had to change a tire since, he thinks of that day.

When it came to life lessons, Matthew said that he works hard at his jobs and performs well in stressful situations, something he believes he learned from watching me. He remembers spending weekends with me in my office after his soccer games were over, “helping out” while I worked. Matthew credits his commitment to hard work and his ability to stay calm under pressure to those moments. High praise.

Paul had a different answer. He recalled that I taught him how to tie his shoes, a practical lesson by any measure. When I asked about life lessons, Paul said that I taught him that we always do what has to be done, and that we can do hard things. Those phrases are throwbacks to 2011, when I was traveling often for work and away from home more than I wanted to be. Matthew would repeat them like a mantra during the times he struggled with my absence. Paul said those lessons mattered then, and that they still matter now. As an adult, he finds himself returning to them when things feel difficult.

What strikes me most is that the lessons my sons remember are not the ones I carefully planned or consciously tried to teach. They are the ones learned in the middle of ordinary moments, stressful days, and imperfect circumstances. A flat tire. Tying shoes. Showing up and doing the work. If there is any comfort in parenting, perhaps it is this. Even when we are unsure of ourselves, even when we are simply doing what has to be done, something good may still be taking root.

The End Is Not Yet

The editor of the December issue of Better Homes and Gardens penned a short piece titled The End Is Not Yet. I suspect the lingering memories of the First World War contributed to the somber undertone of the article. Despite the cheerful merriment of the season, the editor observed that the specter of war continued to loom over humanity, as it always had. Homemakers were urged to set their heads and hearts to “the outlawry of war,” and encouraged to make the Christmas spirit a living and active reality.

A century later, the sentiment feels just as timely. Across the globe there is war. There is strife. There is death. In recent days, acts of violence in public places, in communities both far away and close to home, have taken innocent lives. I want to say something profound, something deeply moving in the face of such loss during the holiday season. I want to, but I have nothing. People should not be gunned down during the holidays. The truth, of course, is that they should not be gunned down at any time of year.

I heard a sermon last year about Jesus being called the Prince of Peace and how that title does not promise an end to conflict or suffering. Arguments were made and perhaps they were sound?  I am not a biblical scholar. What do I know? Only this. Human life should be regarded as so precious that no one would ever consider committing such acts. And yet it is not. I do not know how to change that.

Homes of Famous Americans

A recurring feature in the early editions of Better Homes and Gardens was a spotlight on the homes of Famous Americans. The series was intended to highlight the architecture and landscape features of notable historic homes. My first instinct was to offer a similar exploration of a famous American’s house, until I realized I don’t know any local famous Americans well enough to request a tour of their living rooms.

Instead, I’m sharing a home I know very well: the home of my in-laws, Nolen and Elisa Dunaway. Built in 1929 and purchased by them in 2003, the house is more than 1700 sq ft, two stories and retains many Craftsman-style features that have endured for nearly a century.

In the front room, a stone-and-plaster fireplace anchors the space. Though now purely decorative, its primary purpose is to display a large photograph of Nolen and Elisa’s grandchildren, taken in 2004. French doors separate the entryway from the living room, and observant visitors may notice a hook-and-eye latch installed near the top. Family lore holds that Nolen and Elisa added it to keep little Matthew safely inside.

The staircase is carpeted, and both boys remember being instructed to sit and scoot up and down the steps when they were young. Their tendency to rush resulted in one too many trips and falls. When Paul turned ten, he grew tall enough that he had to duck his head while climbing the stairs. Matthew teased him mercilessly—until, a few years later, he reached the same milestone himself.

Upstairs, the bathroom features a large claw-foot tub. It is neither especially convenient nor likely original, but I am grateful for the countless times it was used to bathe my sons. Also upstairs is the “blue bedroom”; a room that is not blue, and does not have any visible blue features.  Built-in bookshelves in that room house the complete works of Charles Dickens, alongside a a once-beloved children book.  This forgotten favorite of the grandchildren may be waiting for the next generation of little readers.

This home may not be famous for its architecture alone, nor for the people who live within it. It is beloved because it has been filled with love for the past 22 years and, with any luck, will continue to be for many years to come.