FUM FUM FUM

Merry Christmas!

Today is the 25th Day of Christmas and the 25th Christmas memory.

Looking back at what I shared it seems that it is not the usual Christmases where everything goes as planned that are the memorable ones, it is the years when things go off schedule that stand out. It seems the more off schedule, the more memorable.

I had several stories I had planned to share on Christmas day, but events have conspired against me and so they will have to wait until next year. When I wrote my Christmas Eve entry I was still at work and planning on leaving shortly. I needed to stop and get gas on the way home; I was planning on running by the dollar store for gift bags, then picking up the boys from their grandparents and bringing them home to get them ready for church.

Except that church services were canceled because of the weather. Then it took me almost two and a half hours to get to my in-laws from my office, and that is without stopping for gift bags. By the time I made it to their house to collect the boys it was 4pm and we knew Kat was snowed in at her office, and unless some Christmas miracle snow plow showed up she was likely to be spending the night there. According to her the parking lot was snowed in and not only could cars not leave the capital, they could not make their way down Lincoln or up 23rd so her leaving on foot and me picking her up was not a viable option either.

Luckily, her office is warm, she was not alone, there was plenty of food, and she was safe. I brought the boys home to our house, and got the car stuck in the driveway. Two and a half hours in the snow and traffic with no problems, but I manage to get my car stuck in my own driveway? The boys watched Christmas movies and wrapped the last of their presents. For dinner instead of our Christmas enchiladas I made tri-colored pasta with the leftover feta artichoke and red pepper dip from our party, (take that food TV!). Paul drank almost half a gallon of eggnog (although I did catch him letting Eko have some too, who knew cats liked eggnog?). Matthew warmed up two different mugs of apple cider for himself. He spilled the first one, and then did not drink the second one, but that is ok too. For dessert they made themselves snow-ice-cream. Well, that is what they called it. Snow with lots of sugar is a better name for it.

The boys were not pleased that Kat was not here tonight, but we are all very grateful that Kat is someplace warm and safe, and not trapped in her car somewhere, or stuck someplace with strangers. My last report from her was that she and her office mates were watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” on TV in the conference room and sharing a meal cobbled together of leftovers from the fridge and staples that everyone has at their desks. For dessert there was still Granfa Owin’s fudge on hand.

I am sure that some families would have taken this turn events some other way. For the last week I have had this running joke that anytime someone does or says something I do not like I say “Thanks for RUINING Christmas! That expression would almost seem to apply to the events of Christmas Eve, except that it does not. Sure, we wanted to be together and to go to Christmas Eve service and eat enchiladas, but there is always tomorrow for that. Nothing is ruined, just slightly postponed. So for now, I am happy and content that my family is safe and sound and warm on this snowy Christmas morning.

Christmas Eve

White Christmas

When I woke up this morning it was raining. When I left for work, the rain had turned to sleet. It took me an hour to make a drive that normally takes 20 minutes. When I got here the sleet on the metal roof and sky lights was pretty loud, and the wind that makes its way into the warehouse around the loading dock doors was causing the door from to warehouse to the office space to slam periodically.

In the last 15 minutes I have noticed that it got quiet. Silent even. I went and looked out the front door and the rain and sleet have turned to snow. It looks as though we will be having a white Christmas.

Snow on Christmas day is not something that is norm for me. I remember when I was in HS in Santa Fe sometimes we had snow in December, but I was usually in AZ at Christmas time. I can recall one Christmas Eve candle light service at First Christian in Tucson where we did have snow on Christmas Eve for about half an hour, but it did not stick, or last even until morning.

Kathleen reminds me of a snowy Christmas Eve that we flew to Fort Collins, Co on a small plane to spend Christmas with my Mom and Jenni. Have I mentioned Kat does not like flying, and the smaller the plane, the less she likes it? Probably not her favorite Christmas memory, although we often chuckle about the Christmas Eve service we attended that year. Jenni had chosen a church that had a service late enough that we could attend after our plane landed. When we got to the church they gave us an order of service and ushered us to our seat. Nothing in that service matched in any way shape or form to what was printed on the order of service. Note one song we sang was what was printed, and no one was announcing hymn numbers. When the printed sheet said prayer there was singing, when it was time to sing according to the paper there was a sermon. It was the most bizarre thing ever.

Another memorable in the same way Christmas Eve service Kat and I attended and First Baptist in Shawnee Oklahoma. Technically we were members of University Baptist Church at the time, but Kat had recently left the employment of the church under some pretty, well, let’s just say non-festive circumstances. So, rather than try and attend Christmas Eve services at the church we belonged to we went to FBC Shawnee. What we did not know was that JC Farrand, who was much beloved at that church, had planned this beautiful silent service. Lots of pretty candles, softly played Christmas Carols, and the congregation sat in silence and meditated on the scripture, then went to the front at your leisure and took communion, then left in silence when you were ready. It was beautiful, but not what we were looking for. Looking back of course, we have to laugh.

I got sidetracked here because I wanted to write about white Christmases. I will end with this small white Christmas tale. The year we did all the traveling over Christmas was a white Christmas in New Mexico and Colorado. We left Pojoaque Christmas morning and drove to Denver with my brother Ben. I even let him drive part of the way. I will never forget driving through the winding mountain roads in the snow; with Kat in the back seat gripping my shoulder with a vise grip of death (did I mention she doesn’t like driving in bad weather?). Ben was doing a great job of driving, and we were listening to Christmas music. At some point in the worst of the snow he turns to me and says “Brother, being with my family, driving in the mountains in the snow, listening to Elvis signing Christmas Carols, it just does not get any better than this!”

Merry Christmas, I hope everyone has a sweet Christmas eve and that tomorrow lives up to all your expectations.

Day Twenty-three

Last night we took the boys to do their Christmas shopping. In years past we have taken them to the dollar store and turn them loose. They both seem particularly fond of socks and coffee mugs as gifts, as their grandparents and my siblings can attest to. This year we went to a used book store. It certainly cost more than then $10 per kid the other would have, but I think they picked better gifts. At least more interesting gifts.
Matthew wanted to get his granparents a Photoshop for Dummies. I tried explaining to him that his grandparents do not even own a digital camera, but he patiently explained that they have lots of the the Dummies books already, so they must be reading the whole series. While I can appreciate the 8 year old logic in that statement, I steered him in another direction.
Paul looked in the cookbook section and was thinking Hotter Than Hell might be a good choice for Grampa Nolen and he really wanted to get the Skinny Bitch cookbook for his mother. I said no to both, even though I thought it would be funny to see those gifts unwrapped.
Another part of their gift giving tradition is that in the past they have insisted that their Grandmother Elisa needs one of those miniature christmas village houses every year. The tradition started the first year that she and Nolen moved to Oklahoma. Some former co-worker of Elisa’s had sent her a floral arrangement that came with a Thomas Kinkade lighted cottage. That year when we took them shopping Paul insisted that his grandmother loved that cottage and that she probably collects them. I was pretty sure the collecting part was not true, but I let him and Matthew choose small houses from the dollar store for Elisa. She very graciously put them out with the one she had already received.
That was just fuel to the fire. For months before christmas the boys are asking to check out the christmas village houses anywhere there is a display. They are very opinionated in their choices, and it takes a lot of discussion to make the final decision. The house can not be a Santa thing, and can not be decorated with a Christmas tree or anything like that, as they know their grandmother does not like that. To date they have given her a lighthouse (our church is refered to as the lighthouse on the corner so I think that is where that choice came from), a chinese restaurant, and two tiny churches they painted themselves. Elisa is a good sport, because she puts them up every year.
Last year we surprised her. Instead of a christmas village house I bought her a lladro figureen of two boys having a pillow fight. We placed it inside a tacky christmas vallage box and wrapped that. The boys agreed the surprise aspect of that gift balanced out not getting to pick a Christmas house.

Day Twenty-two

The whole time I was growing up my Mom had an Ernie cookie jar. You know Ernie from Sesame Street? Bert’s friend? We got the cookie jar when we were living in CA, quite possible from a swap meet. It was on top of the refrigerator at the townhouse we lived in before we moved to AZ. It sat on top of the refrigerator at our house on 27th street in Tucson, then the house on Howard Stravenue. It was on top of the fridge again in the house Mom and Jenni had over at Stone & Drachmann too. I think Ernie went to live with Sara VanSlyke while Mom went on the Great Peach March, but he came back when mom and Jenni moved into the house on N. First. He sat on the shelf over the stove at that house along with a Scotty dog cookie jar. When Mom moved to what Paul referred to as “the tiny house” Ernie and the Scotty dog were back on top of the fridge.

Did Ernie ever hold cookies? Not really. I remember when Jenni and I were in HS we washed him and put cookies in him once or twice. But when I was a kid, if there were cookies in the house they were hidden so Jenni and I were not helping ourselves to all of them.

When mom passed Jenni and I were faced with the daunting task of emptying out her “tiny house” and finding places for her belongings. The kitchen was one of the last rooms we did, and while I want to say that we lovingly sorted through Mom’s things and came to a mutual agreement about everything, that is not really the case. The last day before we were scheduled to leave Tucson was a day in crisis and everyone sort of crashed and burned independently and spectacularly. In the fiery aftermath Sue and Becky went to the tiny house and packed up the remaining items so that I would not have to do it. During that packing Ernie’s head fell and shattered on the floor.

When Sue told me I was disappointed. Becky said they packed up the body and not to worry too much, because she knew one day I would walk into Savers (a thrift store) and there would be an Ernie head for a dime. I thanked them for their help and asked that they tell Jenni since I was pretty sure she wasn’t speaking to me.
Well Jenni and I made up and several months later she called and asked where Ernie’s head was and what kind of joke was I playing to only have packed Ernie’s body in the box she was finally getting around to unpacking. So then I explained to her what had happened. She took the news of Ernie’s demise pretty well, but was not as sold on theory that I would find a new head at Saver’s. She was quick to point out that #1 we do not have Saver’s in OKC, and that B) I don’t shop at thrift stores.

Determined to prove her wrong,(about finding the head, not about the thrift stores)
I started searching on eBay for an Ernie cookie jar. Sure enough I found one and purchased it for $12 including the shipping and handling and insurance. It was sent from Pennsylvania and somehow it was damaged in the mail. When I found the box sitting on my front porch it looked as though an elephant had sat on one corner of it. I was afraid to open the box because what if it was ruined? Sure enough the cookie jar had been damaged. The body was in a myriad of pieces. The head however was intact. There was a note from the post office saying that my box was damaged and if the contents were damaged as well I should contact them. So the next morning I went to the post office with the box and the broken cookie jar body. I showed the postal worker the box, and the invoice for the cookie jar, and explained that the head was ok, just the body was destroyed.

“You can’t use a cookie jar with just the lid” he told me and gave me $12 to cover the entire cost.

So that year Jenni got an Ernie head for Christmas and the best part was that Sue & Becky were right.

Day Twenty-one

I didn’t forget! Not really. Day 21 is a Monday, my first day back at work after a week off getting ready for our Christmas party. To say there was a pile of work waiting for me is somewhat of an understatement. I thought, “I will post something on the blog as soon as I get to work”, but 335 email and 286 elync (which are internal emails from employees) kind of sort of got in the way. I am telling myself that they were all wishing me a happy holiday, but that may be self delusion.

Tonight we went to dinner with another family that has children roughly the same ages as our boys. The conversation turned to the idea that gratitude is not always a trait that is inborn in our children. My friend disclosed, on the condition that I protect her identity, that she has practice sessions with her son. “What do we say when we already have the thing you get as a gift?” “Thank You!” “What do we say if you do not like the item you get as a gift?” “Thank you VERY much!” Her family might be reading this so that is why she needed the anonymity.

Which reminds me that when I was a child, maybe about 8 or 9 my Mom had given me a heads up that her boyfriend would be giving me a Christmas gift that year and that he did not have children of his own, and was not used to being around children, so the gift might not be something that I want, but nevertheless I was to say thank you. When I opened the gift I ecstatically proclaimed, “I LOVE IT! This is Just EXACTLY what I always wanted! What is it?”

For years after every Christmas my Mom loved to tell that story and would open a present from me and say “ohhh I love it, what is it?”

Day Twenty

This is a secret family recipe

Judson’s Holiday eggnog.

Every Year at our Christmas party I have tons of people asking for my eggnog recipe. And I always say “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.” Because that is keeping with the holiday spirit.

But just because it is the season for it I will share.

1. Get the prettiest punch bowl you have. I use a silver punch bowl I bought off of eBay for $18. It is real silver, and old, maybe an antique (probably, because who makes new silver punch bowls?) It has a small dent on one side, and scratch on the other, but when you shine it up, and turn the lights down, and face the dent to the wall, no one will notice. Plus, I tell people it is a family heirloom. Well it might be, just not my family.

2. I put ice in the bottom of the punch bowl and then I put in a glass bowl. We have one that fits the lip of the punch bowl perfectly. I do this because I don’t know about food safety and serving eggnog out of a silver bowl that I used who knows what to polish.

3. I pour the cheapest eggnog I can buy at the grocery store into the glass bowl. Seriously, it doesn’t even have to be eggnog. That ‘nog flavored dairy product’ works just as well. I have done the Braum's brand and it is good, but costs more, so I go on the cheap.

4. That is it.

5. Seriously, what are you looking for? More steps?

6. I am not Martha Stewart. I have more things to do than make eggnog from scratch, and who drinks raw eggs anyway?

7. OMG, are you still reading this? THAT IS IT, NO MORE STEPS

8. Ok, look if you are one of those who cannot leave well enough alone, fresh grated nutmeg, but I usually don’t bother.

9. And if you like it alcoholic you can add rum, but most people kind of gag a little at that. Amaretto is better, or some cream liquor like Irish cream or Kahlua.

10. OK, 10 freaking steps, are you happy now?

Party Day!

Today is the day of our big Christmas Party. I was going to tell the story about the one time a guest brought something to the party that well, but then Kat said I should save that story until AFTER the party otherwise someone might take it as a challenge, or worse. So I am refraining.

Last night at dinner I asked both the boys what their favorite Christmas memories were. Matthew said his was the year he went to sleep and everyone stayed up watching movies, and then woke up at 1am and watched Unaccompanied Minors. (SEE? I told you!)

Paul said his favorite Christmas memory is the year he got a remote control puppy. I think that was in 2001. Paul’s uncle Clyde and aunt Christie had purchased a remote control puppy for hi, This was an old school version where there was a cord connecting the puppy to the controller. Paul really enjoyed paying with it on the hardwood floors of the hose we were living in. HE must have played with it every day for a week.

Eventually the batteries ran out and it stopped working. I told him to put it up and I would get him new batteries. Instead he took it to his room and used scissors to cut the cord off from the puppy and off of the remove. Then he very carefully cut the cord into one inch pieces. He was pretty pleased with himself when he showed me what he had done. He figured when we got the battery the puppy would be a radio controlled puppy. He was quite disappointed when we finally made him understand that it was not going to work like that and that his puppy was never going to work again.

I asked Paul what that memory taught him. I was hoping for some childlike insight into consequences of his actions. Instead I got “remote control puppies with a wire are hard to find in a toy store when you messed up the one you were given and want to get a new one” Not what I was looking for, but insightful nonetheless.

Day Eightteen

In 1999 we traveled for the holidays. Paul was 20 months old and we drove to Missouri for Thanksgiving with my grandparents and Dad and Aunt Joy and Uncle Dale and various cousins. Then for Christmas we traveled to Santa Fe for Christmas Eve, and then Christmas morning we drove to Parker Colorado. That is a LOT of driving for one family, and a lot of car seat time for Paul. Luckily, Paul is a pretty laid back traveler even then.

We got to Santa Fe around 2pm on Christmas Eve. We hung out at my Dad’s house with my brother Ben, (Dad was already in Colorado with his sister Pat and my sister Jenni). That evening Kat, Paul, Ben and I went to Christmas Eve service at First Baptist Church Santa Fe, which had been my church home when I was in HS, and the church Ben grew up in.

The service was nice and very familiar. Paul thought it was a little long, and so at least twice he climbed down from the pew and out into the aisle and ran for the door. Ben was fast on his feet and went after him both times and scooped him up and brought him back and did his best to keep him entertained during the service. When church was over we shook some hands and then we were headed for the door when Earlene Groseclose stopped me at the door and said how sweet to see us again, and what a beautiful family and all those nice things people usually say. Then she said that she really enjoyed seeing Ben run after Paul because it didn’t seem like that long ago that I had been chasing after Ben as he made a break for it. That made me feels good.

Then we went to Pojoaque to Ben’s Mom’s for a traditional New Mexican Christmas Eve dinner of red and green chile enchiladas. I told Rebecca what Earlene had said and that I thought it was sweet. She agreed it was sweet that what was remembered about me and Ben, and what brought those memories rushing back, was basically bad behavior and parents who couldn’t keep their kids sitting still in church.

Don’t judge. Sarcasm and bad behavior in church is just how us Kinkade’s roll.

Day Seventeen

A Christmas Story

When Kat and I got married I was surprised to discover that she had never seen the movie “A Christmas Story.” I kept asking “How had she managed to get through high school in the 80’s and not see it?” She just gave me that look that suggested the education I received in New Mexico was somehow inferior to her California education.

Every year I kept trying to get her to watch it with me. I tried to tell the story of Ralphie and his family, and his unquenchable desire for a Red Rider BB gun. I am pretty sure she thought it was some sort of children’s version of Dirty Harry with a Santa Claus thrown in, so she kept turning me down.

In 1995 I was working at the reservation center for HFS and one of the perks was that I could stay in franchise motels or hotels for about $15 a night, as long as they were more than 50 miles from the reservation center. That year we were having Christmas in Okmulgee with Stephanie and Clyde and Elisa Gail and Kat & Steph’s parents. Rather than sleep on the air mattress on the floor in Stephanie’s study office, we got a room at the local Day’s Inn.

Hardly a resort destination, all the Day’s Inn Okmulgee had to offer was that it was clean, the rooms were warm, they allowed small pets (which was good since we had Angel with us), and they had free cable. Christmas Eve we went to church with Steph and the family, then went back to Stephanie’s house where we opened presents (presents on Christmas Eve is a strictly Dunaway tradition I am still trying to break Kathleen of). Then we went back to the hotel. If I remember correctly we said we had presents to wrap, but who were we kidding, we were young, and we had no kids, and we were organized, our presents had been wrapped for weeks. Stephanie had given us a bottle of champagne and we went back to hotel with that.

As it turned out the cable channel TNT was showing “A Christmas Story” around the clock. Kat and I sat on the bed with the dog, drank champagne from plastic hotel cups and watched the movie. Kat laughed so hard she was crying.

We do not watch it every year, but we do watch it more years than not. Now that we are parents it is part of the fun to watch it with the boys. I love it when they quote lines from the movie. Paul is partial to the line “fra-gee-lay, must be Italian!” Matthew has been known to say “OHHHH FFFFFFFF-uuuuudddddggge!” But the very best of all is Paul’s imitation of Ralphie telling Santa “I want a red rider bb gun with a compass in the stock” and then smiling that same smile from the kid in the movie. It is spot on and high-larious.

Day Sixteen

The Guardian

In 2002 we only had one vehicle, the infamous mini-van. So every morning Kat got up and ready for work and then loaded me and the boys into the van and drove us all to her office. Kat works at the state capital complex, but not in the capital building. In 2002 they had finished the new dome on the capital building and were getting ready to place the guardian on top/

The guardian is the work of renowned artist and former Oklahoma state senator Enoch Kelly Haney. In 2000 his design was selected in a blind competition to find a fitting crown for the dome. The first week of June 2002 the Guardian was placed on top of the dome. Prior to that the Guardian was on display on front of the capital building, and Paul saw it every day, and he witnessed the daily progress made with the giant cranes and the whole process involved in getting the guardian atop the dome. Every morning when I drove home from taking Kat to work he talked about the guardian, and the big trucks. Of course he thought the president lived in the capital building and that the guardian was one of the Native Americans from the Disney movie Peter Pan, but that is not the point.

In 2003 the “friends of the Mansion” group that makes the commemorative Christmas ornaments that are sold to make $ for the Governors mansion choose the guardian as the ornament of the year. I kept telling Kat we should get one for Paul for Christmas to help him remember that year. I meant to, I kept thinking I would, but then I never got around to it. I mentioned to a friend at a Sunday school party how interested Paul had been in that whole process, plus the fact that he had seen it go up day by day, and that he would always be able to say as an adult that he witnessed that part of Oklahoma history first hand. A few weeks later when we had out Christmas party she brought the ornament for Paul.

This is one of those, it means more to me than it does to him things, but there it is. Someday I hope when he is 39 and hangs it on his tree he will tell his kids, “you know when I was just a child I saw this statue placed on the capital dome. . . “

Day Fifteen

Go Tell it on the Mountain.

The very first year that Paul was really involved in Children’s Choir at First Baptist Oklahoma City they sang the hymn “Go Tell It on the Mountain” at Christmas time for one of the Sunday morning services, and also at their Christmas Concert. That year it was Paul’s favorite Christmas song. Whenever it came on the radio, he sang along, quietly, because he didn’t want anyone to hear him singing it, but he liked to sing it.

The next year they sang “Little Drummer Boy” and that was his favorite Christmas song. I figured that whatever song Miss Cathy picked for them would be his favorite that year. As it turns out I was wrong. Those two are his favorites year after year. Sunday night as I was tucking the boys into bed “Little Drummer boy” was playing on the radio. I made the comment to Matthew that it was Paul’s favorite. Paul was quick to correct me, that really “Go Tell It on the Mountain” is his true favorite. That was upsetting to Matthew because he was certain he had never heard that song before. Matthew demanded that Paul sing it to him NOW.

I was certain that this demand would lead to the usual fighting that ended with pronouncements that they hated one another. I was wrong. Paul took a deep breath and lying on the bottom bunk sang the first verso of “Go Tell It on the Mountain” for his brother. For just a few minutes it was quiet in there and I thought, "What a sweet gift." Paul will barely sing loud enough for me to hear him standing next to him in church, but he did a fine job singing for his brother.

Then Matthew accused Paul of not knowing the rest, and Paul yelled at him to shut up and leave him alone so he could sleep, and it went downhill from there. But for a minute it was really sweet.

Day fourteen

So I told a Christmas Julie story and a Christmas Jenni story, so today will be a Christmas Ben story. Not that he has internet access to read it, but never mind.
When I was in high school, and we were living in the Corte del Potro house (so maybe Christmas 87) my little brother Ben was 5 and in the first grade. He was going to the school for the deaf that year and they picked him up early early in the morning in a van and dropped him off in the afternoon. I am avoiding the obvious comment about my brother riding the short bus.

The Friday before Christmas break the school for the deaf had a half day and they brought him home at lunch time. The only problem was that the school had failed to send notes home to let the parents know. Or perhaps they did and Ben lost the note on the bus. That part is unclear. What is clear is that the school bus driver dropped Ben off at the house and no one was home to let him in. Why the driver left a 5 year old and didn’t wait to see if he made it in the house will forever be a mystery.

Ever resourceful Ben walked down the block to the end of the street and knocked on the Carabajal’s door. Their daughter Rhiannon was Julie’s age and a sometime friend. He was pretty sure they would let him stay, or call his mom. Except they were not home either, so he walked back to our house at the top of the cul-de-sac and then all the way down the other side of the street to knock on the door of Julie’s other sometime friend January. No luck there either.
So he just went door to door knocking on all the houses until someone answered. Lucky for everyone it was a nice older couple a few doors down from the Carabajal’s. They did not know our family, but they knew the Carabajal’s and they had seen Ben playing in the neighborhood. They invited him in and gave him hot chocolate and let him watch TV. They were getting ready to leave town to go and visit their family. They tried calling my Dad at work, but as there are two Dr. Jerry Kinkades in the phonebook in Santa Fe, they of course got the answering service of the wrong one.

They must have missed seeing me walk up the street when I got home from school. When Rebecca, Ben’s mom got home they walked him up the street to the house and explained what happened. When I tell this story I always think how scary it must have been for Ben, it was December in New Mexico, and cold, and his mom was not home to let him in, and she was ALWAYS there when he got home. Except that if you know my brother, he pretty much takes everything in stride. I think here is this poor cold 5 year old desperately knocking on doors trying to get someone to take him in. But when he tells the story it is more of an adventure, the first time he was on his own against the world. I suspect his plan was if no one let him in he was going to build a shelter in the backyard and maybe rub two sticks together to start a fire.

Day Thirteen

Christmas 1996 was a big year for us. My Mom was here to visit; Kat's parents were here from CA for a visit. Steph and Clyde brought Elisa up from Okmulgee and we had a really good time. Part of our celebration that year was to go and see the Nutcracker at the civic center here in OKC.

Because Kat is a good aunt and wanted this to be fun for Elisa Gail as well as the adults, she purchased a new dress for Elisa to wear and then very carefully explained the whole story to our girl so she would know what to expect. Elisa did pretty well for about the first half. She enjoyed the children at the party and liked the action of the fight with the mouse king. About the time we got to the snowflakes she was done though. So she asked in a VERY loud whisper that was heard throughout the balcony, "Aunt Kakleen, when is this girl going to wake up? Her dream is giving me a headache!!"

It was Clyde's first ballet too, and I suspect he was wondering the same thing too.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

Christmas Eve 2007 my family had been asked to light the advent candles for Christmas Eve Service and Kat had been asked to read the scripture. Since Christmas Eve fell on a weekday that year I had to work that morning. The plan was I would meet Kat and the family at church around 5pm.

When I left for work Kathleen already did not have a voice. So I was planning on pitch hitting the reading for her and she and the boys could light candles. Midmorning I got a text from Kat that Matthew did not feel so great and she was concerned about him being sick. We agreed to watch and see.

By 3pm he was full on sick and Paul was starting to feel puny as well. I called Kristin Rogers the childrens minister at the church and asked “what do I have to do to get my family off the hook for tonight?” because it was looking like I was going to be there by myself. She suggested I ask my in-laws to stand in for us since they were already participating in the service. Which of course they did.

When I got home both boys were bundled up and looking sick as they lay on the couches in the living room. Clearly this was not going to be our traditional Christmas eve. Matthew fell asleep around 6pm and was fast and hard asleep. I carried him to his room and put him to bed. Paul was feverish on the couch but not sleepy. We turned off the lights and watched Christmas in Connecticut on the TV. When the movie was ¾ the way over it started. The vomiting. And not just a little bit, or the running to the bathroom with his hands over his mouth kind either. I am talking full on projectile vomiting in vivid color. Let me say both of my boys usually are pretty good if they have to throw up. They are minimal mess, very little drama. But not this night. From the couch to half way across the living room rug.

So being the good papa I am, I cleaned the mess and got him comfortable again, and put the TV on Unaccompanied minors. Pretty soon he was sound asleep. Then Matthew woke up after a 5 hour nap. He was hungry so Kat made him some noodle soup and he watched the movie for a while with us. Then he took his turn with the scary vomiting. All over the couch, his Christmas pajamas and his mother. Did I mention that Kat really really hates the sight and smell of vomit?

So I cleaned up from that too. Finally we got him settled and he watched the rest of the movie and fell back to sleep on the couch. When you look at pictures of the boys on Christmas morning it is pathetic, they look awful. I told Kat that it would always be remembered as the year of projectile vomiting.

But lo and behold, when you ask the boys about Christmas Eve, they almost always say “remember the year we stayed home and watched movies and just had soup? That was a good time!”

My response to that is “who knew?” Kat just shakes her head, gives that look and says “BOYS!”

Day Eleven

On the eleventh day of Christmas. . .

Alright, I admit it I actually started writing these the last week of November and I had the first 8 days or so already completed before the 1st so that if I couldn't think of anything I would be ok. Except then I got busy and didn't really stay as far ahead as I planned and I think I only have one or two more days. So we will see how well I do from this point on.

Christmas Eve dinner enchiladas have been a tradition for my family as long as I can remember. When I moved to Arizona with my Mom and Jenni we were already doing it. My Mom’s favorites were her infamous spinach enchiladas. While those were tasty, I know Jenni was not a huge fan. Her complaint was that they tasted like raw spinach and tortillas with cheese and enchilada sauce. This is not an absolutely untrue statement. I am a big fan of Kathleen’s version of Christmas Eve enchiladas. She makes both red and green, and fills them with cheese, onions and chicken, even though her Mom insists that enchiladas do not have meat.

When Jenni and I were still kids living in Tucson, one of our traditions, in addition to the enchiladas and multiple Christmas eve church services was ‘re-hanging’ the tinsel on the tree when my Mom was not around. It was so much more fun to stand back and throw the shiny tinsel at the tree than it was to carefully drape it over the branches, one silver strand at a time. Once the tree was decorated, when Mom wasn’t around we would take the tinsel off the tree and do it our way.

One Christmas Eve Jenni and I were ‘re-hanging’ tinsel in the living room while Mom was in her room wrapping presents. We were supposed to be finishing our enchiladas, but we had brought our plates in from the kitchen and had set them on the couch while we were busy with the tree. We had Mom’s old Firestone Christmas albums playing on the record player, (sort of like an old school cd player that involved needles, for those born after 1980).

We were dressed for church and were probably minutes away from leaving for a candlelight service. That year Jenni had a red velvet skirt that my Dad’s mom had made for her. Jenni loved it because Grandmother made it, and also because when she spun around the skirt twirled out really big. So there we were listening to Christmas tunes, throwing tinsel, and Jenni was spinning around in the living room, making it merry and bright.

Eventually the noise level got a little too loud and Mom came back into the living room. Jenni was mid spin when Mom walked in so she immediately went from spinning to flopping down on the couch. I am sure her intent was to declare her innocence in the whole affair and pin the blame on me. It might have had better results had she not sat down on her plate of enchiladas.

Guess what does not come easily out of red velvet? Red enchilada sauce, that is what.

When Mom stopped laughing she helped Jenni clean up the mess and after Jenni had changed into jeans Mom asked what had we learned from this experience.
I went with the safe bet of ‘not to eat dinner in the living room’, after discarding ‘not to throw tinsel at the tree’ and ‘no turning the record player up past 5’. Jenni said ‘don’t put your butt in your dinner plate if that is the last serving of enchiladas’

Let that be a lesson to all of us this year.

On the 10th day of Christmas. . .

A tale of the Christmas Grinjetta.

When I was a freshman in HS I moved from Tucson AZ to Santa Fe NM to live with my Dad, my sister Juliet, my brother Ben, and their Mom Rebecca. Years before my own Mother had made the decision that no matter what Jenni and I had to be with her for Christmas, (I think completely sleeping through Christmas one year when we were at my Dad’s had something to do with it). So I was living in NM, but I would be heading to Tucson for Christmas.

One evening in December as the family was sitting down to dinner a very grumpy Juliet announced that she HATED Christmas. Right away everyone was asking what could possible lead a 4 year old to such a decision. But she refused to elaborate. Over the rest of the holiday season she grumpily held to her opinion and even told us her name was NOT Juliet it was Grinjetta. The most that we could ever get out of her on that topic was that Grinjetta was a cross between a girl Oscar the grouch and the Grinch that stole Christmas.

Just like at the beginning of the Dr. Seuss story where it says “no one quite knows the reason”, the same is true for Juliet’s pronouncement. I do not think that she was particularly unhappy that holiday season, but she sure let us know not to cross her or face the wrath of Grinjetta.

Merry Merry, OR ELSE!!!

Day Nine

When I was in the 8th grade and my time as a boy scout was in its death throes I went to “snow camp” at the boy scout camp on mt Lemon in Tucson AZ. I am told that the scout camp there is actually a great camp and that boys come from all over in the summer to attend. But this wasn’t the summer this was December and it was cold and sleeping on the ground in the snow was not something that growing up in AZ had exposed me to . But I went, and was cold. I also learned about “being prepared” using a frozen banana that weekend, but that is another story.

So there I was: cold, in the snow, and sleeping outside the week before Christmas and I thought I had it bad. It is all about perspective. The night I came back home someone broke into our house in the middle of the night, came in through my bedroom, and was in my Mom’s room when she woke up and started screaming and scared him off. Jenni woke up from the screaming, but I slept through the whole thing. The cops came out, turned on all the lights, investigated everything and I slept through the whole thing.

Where the hell am I going with this? Needless to say we were feeling a little uneasy in our home after that. The next day instead of driving all over town in search of a perfect tree, or fun presents, we went in search of mace.
Christmas eve we went to the family service at the Unitarian church, which traditionally consisted of Christmas carols on request, a reading of ‘a child's Christmas in wales’, (again growing up in AZ made this whole story seem so un-relevant to me), and candles and a discussion about being the light of the world. We drove up to the foothills to have Christmas eve dinner with the Reed family. And then we were supposed to drive back down into the city to see Sara dance at Christmas eve service at first christian church. While we were at Christmas eve dinner Julie Reed invited us to stay the night Christmas eve and have Christmas day with her family. Mom had an argument that we would have to go get all the presents from our house and we were not really ready, but in the end it was decided we would stay.

I slept through the Christmas eve service at first christian, (really how many Christmas eve services does one family need? I never questioned it growing up but looking back it seems we went from one to the next to the next). Because of my nap I was wide awake that night when we were supposed to be asleep. Jenni and Amy Reed and I were listening to Mom and Julie and Bill doing the last minute Christmas wrapping. That year Mom gave Jenni the wedding doll that her mother had given her when she was a child. The doll’s name is Mary and had been in a trunk wrapped in plastic for years. We could hear Julie saying “that looks a mess Janice,” and Mom saying “I’ll just fluff the skirt it will be fine”. Julie said “Aren’t your kids traumatized enough without that scary thing waiting for them under the tree, where is the iron I can fix it.” And Mom “can you iron 20 year old satin?”

There was also a discussion about whether they should open the package my dad had sent to see if it needed batteries or not. In the end it was not opened because there were no batteries in the house if it did need batteries.
But perhaps the best conversation of all was how does one actually wrap a lump of coal. Do you put it in a box? Stick it in a sandwich bag and shove it in the stocking? Throw it at the recipient? Evidently Jeff Reed had found his Christmas gift in his parents closet and had worn it to school thinking he would not be found out, and of course he was.

Again, not the traditional Christmas, but a good one. Evidence that although my Mom was an only child and living far away from her actual biological family, she found extended family wherever she was that loved her and her family.

Day Eight

In December 1987 when I was 17 my mom had just returned to Tucson after completing the Great Peach March where she walked across the whole country with a huge group of other individuals in support of global nuclear disarmament. She was supposed to pick Jenni and me up at the airport when we flew in from New Mexico, but she hadn’t even left California by the time we got on the plane. Sara picked Jenni and me up at the airport and we hung out at the 707 house until Mom arrived.

Mom had made arrangements to stay in the apartment at Saguaro Alliance at Stone and Drachmann through the holidays until she could get a more permanent residence and get all her stuff from storage. It was an interesting Christmas. Jenni and I were so happy to see Mom again, and she was happy to be back in Tucson, and everyone was eager to see her. In a concession to Jenni and me, we did get a tree and Mom drove us up to the Brodesky’s house out by Pima College for a pancake breakfast on Christmas Eve and to retrieve our boxes of Christmas ornaments. We decorated the tree in the apartment.

Christmas eve we went to the early service at First Christian Church, and then after the service was over we went to little Caesars pizza and got 2 pizza’s to go (this was back in the pan/pan, pizza/pizza days) We took the pizzas to Stone park and ate them outside at a picnic table in the dark before going back to church for the late service. I cannot lie and say it was the best Christmas Eve meal ever, but I can say without reservation that it was one of the most memorable Christmas Eve dinners I have ever had.

Day Seven

La La La.

Alright, so once upon a time Kathleen had a boss. Not the boss she has now, nor even the boss she had before the boss she had now. Many years ago, ok not that many since I am not that old, but you get the idea. This guy did not like Kathleen. No, seriously he did not like her. I know, it sounds hard to believe but it is true. He wasn’t mean or anything, but he just was not a fan of Kathleen’s.

So every year we have this party and I try to be selective about who we invite, but Kathleen is kind and loving and invites people that I find irritating, but since she does it out of the goodness of her heart I put up with it. (Because I try and encourage her to be kind and loving to people who do not deserve it since the day she stops you know she will kick me to the curb). As a result, she tends to invite the people she works with. This is not to say that I do not like the people she works with, because I do like many of them, especially any of them that might be reading this. Some of them that I am sure would never ever read this, I may have found irritating in the past. But maybe only once and it was a long long time ago. I hope you get my point.

So in the dark and distance past, Kathleen took party invitations to everyone in her office. Invitations that I labored over were taken and distributed to people, including the aforementioned boss. All of this was in the spirit of Christmas and yuletide good times. At the end of the day Kat went into the office of the boss to drop off some paperwork and found the un-opened invitation in the trash. Ok, really? In the trash? Like he could not even take it home and throw it away there? Kathleen, being the kind hearted loving person she is, took it out of the trash and put it back on his desk. Not that he came to the party. The fact that he didn’t want to come to the party does not make him a bad person. But I have never been able to figure out the ‘just throw it away and not open it’ thing. What is that? How do you not even be curious what is in the envelope? Maybe there was cash? I am just saying.

So then, years later, Kathleen encounters this man at a work conference and he snubs her again. I know right? So Kathleen comes home and shares the story with me and with our nephew Baby Scott, (who was 16 at the time). Baby Scott thought Kathleen was making it up. We assured him it was true, that this man does not like Kathleen. Baby Scott offered up this gem of an insight, “there must be something seriously wrong with him, like deep down inside, really messed up. That is the only explanation of why someone would not like Kathleen.”

This story has 3 morals.
1. Some people are idiots
2. Baby Scott Rocks.
3. There really is a list, and sometimes Kat lets me cross people off of it.

Day Six

Look at me I am like the Christmas blog version of the energizer bunny.

When Kat and I were newlyweds we had a little dog named Angel. Angel started life as Ann and Stephen Hankins dog, and then they gave her to Kat and Steph. For years Kat and Steph traded Angel back and forth depending on who had a house and could keep her. Then after we were married she came to live with us full time. She was a Chihuahua-dachshund mix. I understand now that they call this particular mix of dog breed a chi-weenie dog.

Angel was a pretty good little dog. I used to say that she had a guilty conscious though, because all you had to do was ask “did you do that?” and she would give you the most pathetic hangdog look I had ever seen a dog make.

“Wait a minute,” you are thinking, “what does this have to do with Christmas?” This is background information you need for the end of the story. And now by my telling you this I have probably ruined the surprise. See what you get for jumping ahead? You probably are one of those that read the last page of the book before you start right?

So ANYWAY, back to the story at hand. When Kat and I were newlyweds, and I was still a student at OBU we used to have people over to the house after the annual Hanging Of The Green. This ‘after hanging’ soiree was a precursor to our party I am sure. The idea was that once this big gala event was over people could stop by the house and have some cookies and maybe a drink or some fudge. One such year we left the house in order and all ready to receive guests when we left to attend the event. One of the types of cookies that Kat had made that year was coconut macaroons, and she had generously filled a large decorative basket with them and placed a festive holiday napkin on top.

I am not sure how long Angel waited before helping herself to the cookies. What I do know is that when we opened the front door when we returned and our friends walked in, the very first thing they laid eyes on was the dog standing on the dining room table with a coconut macaroon in her mouth and the holiday napkin on her head.
So you see? Sometimes the fact that we have to put the food out after the guests arrive is not a bad thing.

I always say ‘poison your guests once and they never come back’ but a corollary might be, ‘try and serve cookies with dog germs on them and no one will ever eat those cookies again.”

I was going to end this with the statement that since no one ate them at the party I had to mail them to my siblings for Christmas. But then I thought, what if they read that? And surely Kat would never let me do that. Surely not ;-)

Five GOLDEN Rings Ba Da Bum Bum

Ok, it looks like I haven’t run out of steam yet.

I have a confession to make. My boys do not believe in Santa Clause. I know, it sounds bad. I grew up with the myth of Santa, Kathleen did not. When Kathleen’s sister Stephanie had a daughter she made the decision that she was not going to do Santa with Elisa. So, Steph told Elisa the truth when she was pretty young. She explained that there was no Santa and that all the gifts come from family and friends. Elisa’s granny (Clyde’s Mom) told Elisa otherwise and then showered her in gifts from Santa as proof. I can remember a 4 year old Elisa telling me I was all wrong about Santa, because her granny knew him.

So, when Kat and I had Paul, we agreed that we could forgo the Santa tradition, (since Kat already compromises on the tree). I had no idea what a challenge it would be. Of course marketing and advertising are against us, but that is almost beside the point because the boys know what they see on TV is not real. The problem is that when my boys tell people that they do not believe, they are always corrected and usually by adults. When Paul was little it was somewhat amusing when people asked him what Santa was bringing him, because he always answered ‘nothing’ and smiled. When he was 4 they had someone come to his day care dressed as Santa and it was reported to me that Paul did not want to sit on his lap and talk to him, that they had to bribe him with chocolate AND a candy cane, that they had to give the treats to him BEFORE he would sit on Santa’s lap and that then he would not tell Santa what he wanted. They asked him if Santa could bring a present for his brother and he LOUDLY let them know that he, PAUL, was getting a present for his brother, and no one else was ALLOWED to.

But all of that is secondary to what my Matthew has gone through. Please understand, we tell the boys every year that it is ok for other kids to talk about Santa and to believe in Santa, and that it is absolutely not their job to tell everyone. In fact, I encourage them to keep their mouths shut about the whole thing. Matthew, however, has a very strong sense of truth and not truth. And in his world, not truth is a LIE, and there are big consequences for telling A LIE. So he cannot help but share what he knows about Santa, and it always gets him in trouble.

Before he started kindergarten an extended session worker in the church nursery told me that Matthew was telling all the other little children there was no Santa and that he was ruining Christmas for them, and that if I did not put a stop to it he could not come back to the nursery. I gave her my blank stare and said, “thank goodness we believe that Christmas is about Jesus then.”

Only in my head it was more like “listen you hateful hag, you are not in charge here, and you are not the parent of my kid, I know people that will shank you, you crazy witch.” Only I didn’t think witch, which led to another internal dialog about how she made me cuss in my head in church and how that was not very Christ-like of her, and that I hoped God would get her for that. And I think I showed remarkable restraint for that.

So the moral of this story is my kids do not believe in Santa and don’t make me shank you.

Day Four

I was talking last night with my niece Elisa who is 18, and I was reminding her that for many many years Kat and I bought her pretty Christmas dresses to wear to our party and other holiday events. She reminded me that I also purchased her shoes too.

I think she was 4 at the time, and Kat and I had already bought her dress and given it to her. The day of the party I had to run to Wal-mart to get ice and a few other things, and trying to entertain the 4 year old I took Elisa with me. When we parked the car I told her we needed three things, and told her what the three things were and asked her to remember them. Then I asked her as we walked in, “what were those three things?”And “How many things?” I was trying to make a game of remembering what we needed and staying on point so we could get out of the store in a timely manner.

Everything was going well until we came upon a large aisle display of Christmas shoes. They had garishly sparkly high heel prostitute looking shoes with holly leaves painted on them, red wizard of oz shoes, and little girls velvet slippers with Christmas wreathes embroidered on the toes. Elisa was fascinated. Trying to stay on point I asked, “How many items do we need?” “Three, plus SHOES” she answered. I reminded her that shoes were not on the list, and she countered with “but I want them to be on the list.”

I tried to tell her no, but she said “please uncle Jedson, please buy me these shoes.” Who can resist that? They were only $10 and they were kinda cute so I said ok. But then we could not find any in her size, in fact the only ones we could find were two sizes too small. Of course, those were the very ones she wanted. I tried to explain to her that they did not fit, and we could not get them. She assured me they did fit, and sat down and put them on to demonstrate. Sure enough she could get them on, and she could get them buckled. I wasn’t convinced thought, and I really did not want her to be wearing shoes that didn’t fit. I told her they would hurt her feet when she wore them, and she offered the ultimate rebuttal “But I am tough like my daddy.”

Now, if you know my brother in law Clyde, you know that is not an argument you can counter. So I bought the shoes.

She did wear them to the party and took them off once they started to hurt, which was fine. Then Christmas eve we went down to Okmulgee and went to church with Stephanie and Elisa. Elisa wanted to wear her Christmas shoes. I noticed as we walked into the church that she was walking very slowly. “Do your feet hurt?” I asked. She adamantly denied that they did. But as the service went on, with the walking to the front for the candles, and then walking to courtyard to make a circle, it was pretty obvious that she was limping. When her 4 year old determination gave out and Elisa started whining that her feet hurt, Stephanie told me, “You did this, you deal with it.” So I picked Elisa up and carried her for the rest of the service. When the service, and the requisite meet and greet after was finally over and we got back to the house and I was helping Elisa get ready for bed I discovered that yes the shoes were too small, but that she had worn them on the wrong feet all night.

Day Three

I must confess that it is a fear of mine that I will get part way through this and get stuck, and run out of clever stories to tell. So far I am doing ok, but what if I wake up tomorrow with nothing to say? I wonder if Hemmingway ever felt this way?

My youngest son Matthew was born 9/2001 and had his first Christmas 3 months later. That year Big Brother Paul got it in his head that it was his job to be sure that Matthew’s first Christmas was a good one. Paul’s requirements included a tree decorated with cookies and marshmallows, Christmas caroling, a white Christmas, Christmas lights on the house, a snow man and special presents from Paul himself.

Of course more cookies went in Paul than on the tree, and have you ever tried to string marshmallows? I can’t recall just what Paul chose for Matthew’s special gift, but I do remember that it was more suited for a three year old to play with than a newborn. The night of our Christmas party about halfway through the party Paul herded all the children, most of them older than he, out on the front porch and had them sing Christmas carols to Matthew and the rest of our guests. As it turned out the only song that Paul knew the words to was “we wish you a merry Christmas” and that was about all the words of that song he knew, but he gamely sang it over and over.

I was pretty sure he was going to be disappointed in the weather, but that worked out too. As usual we had Elisa Gail for a few days after our party before we had to take her home Christmas Eve, and it started snowing on our way back from Henrietta. When we got home there was enough snow on the ground for Paul to make a tiny snowman. After it was competed he wanted to bring it in the house and put it in Matthew’s room to keep him company. I recall that he was not pleased to find out that there was a rule about bringing snow men in the house.

As a parent I want to believe that I am my child’s favorite in the whole wide world, but I tell you honestly that when Matthew was a baby I was always somewhere right behind Paul.

Day Two

Either you missed out on day one, so essentially you are late for the party, or you came back for more.

I am calling today’s memory Christmas Karma or how tree envy can bite you on the . . .

When I was in the 2nd grade (circa 1977) my mom had made the decision that rather than spend the $ on a Christmas tree she would donate that to a local charity, and instead she would take evergreen branches from a friend who had recently trimmed the trees in his yard and we could decorate those. The result was 3 or 4 very large branches stuck in a giant green plastic laundry bucket filled with sand and water to hold them in place. It did not look tree like; instead it more closely resembled a deranged shrub. But the decision had been made so we hung lights and ornaments.

The last day of school before Christmas break my teacher Ms. Dickson asked all the children who did not have a Christmas tree yet to raise their hands. If she had asked for children who were not going to get a Christmas tree, or whose parents could not afford a Christmas tree I would have kept my hand down, but because she said “yet” I thought I had a chance, so I raised my hand. I was the only one who did, so either everyone else had been blessed with a real tree that year, or they were too afraid to admit it. Ms. Dickson graciously informed me that I could take the classroom tree home.

I was so excited as I waited by the curb with my tree for my Mom to collect me. Luckily the family vehicle was a blue 1972 VW van so I knew there was plenty of room. When the van rolled up and the door opened there was already a tree inside. My sister Jenni had brought home the first grades classroom tree as well. My mother had tried to explain to Jenni’s teacher, and then to mine, that it wasn’t that we could not afford a tree, it was that we had made the decision as a family to give that money to charity. I do not know if the teachers believed her or not, but either way, my tree joined my sisters in the van.

I was set to undecorated the unsightly bush in the dining the dining room and hang our family treasures on my tree, but my Mom was not going for that. So this was the year that Jenni had a tree in her bedroom, and I had tree in my bedroom, and we opened our presents seated around Charlie brown’s Christmas tree’s mutant cousin.
But wait . . . there is more.

Flash forward to 2004. My Paul was in the first grade and Matthew was 3. If you know Kathleen and me, then you know that the tree issue is sort of a compromise. I come from tree people and Kathleen comes from not tree people, (no they are not Jewish, although that is a common misconception). So, some years we have a big tree, and some years we, ok, *I* have to make do with a miniature tree, (or several as the case may be). 2004 was not a big tree year.

That year Paul’s elementary school had been adopted by a local church and in the fall every child received a school uniform and a new pair of shoes from this church. At the beginning of winter every child received a warm jacket. I was a little uncomfortable with this as Kat and I can certainly afford to buy our children what they need, and even if that were not the case, their grandparent’s would never let them go without. However, the argument was made that I would rather be a little uncomfortable about it and have some children who might really need these items get them, than to refuse the gift that was offered.

After the coats I was thinking we were done with the free gifts. I know now I was wrong, so very wrong.

Right before Christmas break there was a knock on the door one night. I opened it to find a man dressed in a Santa Clause suit and his merry band of helpers. Paul had been selected to be the recipient of Santa’s bounty. They brought in several wrapped presents for both boys, and since we did not have a tree they also gifted us with a three foot artificial light up color changing led tree. I showed them the mini trees we had up, I showed them the wrapped presents on top of the entertainment center, and I offered to show them the gifts I had not wrapped yet as proof that we absolutely were not the people that needed this blessing. I was practically begging them to take this stuff away, but they would not listen. The more I tried to explain, the more they looked at me with that “bless his heart” expression and I knew there was no way I would ever convince them that we were not a needy family.

I do not fault Paul for this fiasco. I am sure they asked his class who had a tree, and we did not. Or more likely he made a pronouncement that Santa wasn’t coming to his house, since we do not do Santa (which is a story for another day), and it was taken the wrong way.

My Mom was not around to hear how this played out, but I am sure she would have appreciated the symmetry and poetic justice in the whole story.

On the First Day of Christmas. . .

Since this is day one I want to start off with a BANG. Although it is making me sort of nervous, what if I pick the wrong memory to write about? What if I am boring? Where do I start? Something my kids did? Something I did as a kid? Something Kat and I did while dating, or newlyweds? ACK!
Maybe I should just start small and work up to a BANG?
Kat and I got married in 1991 and immediately started having these full blown over the top Christmas parties for hundreds of people. Wait, Kathleen will probably read this so I should at least start with the truth. We did get married in 1991, and that year because we were more or less stuck in Oklahoma we had a small gathering of friends over the night before Christmas Eve for eggnog, cider, cookies and fudge. Gradually that morphed into something much bigger and slightly of control.
In 1993 or 1994 when my niece Elisa was still very little her mother Stephanie had brought her to the party, and then I think, left her there to run to the mall with Ann. Something like that anyway. Elisa was 2 or three and precious. She was sitting on my lap at the table and I was talking with Becky Mize. Elisa asked me so politely if she could please have a piece of Kathleen’s fudge. Since she asked so sweetly, and because I still can never say no to her I agreed, and cautioned her to be sure to wipe her mouth with a napkin so she did not get chocolate everywhere. Someone in Kat’s office had secret santa’d her a package of 25 very fancy holiday napkins that we had set on the table for people to use. I scooted the pile closer to Elisa and continued my conversation.
Elisa carefully selected the piece of fudge she wanted and ate it. Then she took a napkin off the pile and wiped her mouth and hands, wadded up the napkin and handed it to me. She must have liked the fudge because she decided to have another, and then carefully wiped her hands and mouth on a fresh napkin. Again she handed me the napkin. A few minutes later, another piece of fudge and another napkin. Pretty soon my hand was full of napkins so I stuck them in my pocket, and when that pocket got full I put them in my other pocket. When both pants pockets are full I started putting them in the pocket on my vest. After about 20 minutes Elisa informed me “Uncle Judson, I do not feel so good.” Only then did it occur to me that if she had been eating one piece of fudge for each napkin she had handed to me then we were potentially in some bad uncle territory. I looked to see how many napkins were left and was shocked to find they were all in my pockets.
About that time Kat says “where are those napkins? I was going to set them on the coffee table.” I smiled innocently, and told her “I don’t know, maybe you already used them?”
I am pretty sure she believed me. Just like I am sure Stephanie believed me when I said Elisa had eaten “a few pieces” of fudge at the party.