stardate 12.9.2020

I have mentioned my sister Jennifer often this year.  Today’s entry is not about her, or by her.  It was written by my fake sister Jennifer Owens Hill.  How does one acquire a fake sister?  The long version involves OBU in the early 90’s, a green velour dress, torrential rain, my infamous stage performance as a liar and a slave, an mistyped offer of couscous salad… but somethings should remain shrouded in mystery.  The short version is that both Ms. Owens Hill and my sister Jennifer were saved in my phone under their first names and for a long season I had the annoying habit of texting questions intended for Jennifer Kinkade to Ms. Owens Hill.  Hilarity ensued.  This is when we started referring to her as my fake sis Jen.  Those OBU connections run deep, y’all.  So here she is, my fake sis Jen Owens Hill

Last Christmas, With Apologies To George Michael or Eat Every Happy Meal Like It's Your Last

McDonald’s made waves a few weeks ago with this tweet

It put a lot of parents in their feelings, and I can’t help but wonder if their timing was intentional. With the Holidays come so many expectations of practices and traditions that many times we don’t even realize we needed. For example, I knew there’d be a year that my son no longer pronounced “Christmas” like “Grimace”. Like, if pressed I’d probably tell you that I didn’t want him to always say it that way. When my son serves as President of the United States, I don’t want him to wish our nation a “Merry Grimace”, it doesn’t inspire the trust we need in a leader. Nevertheless, the first year that he properly articulated the word, it stung a little. 

I have no idea when we experienced the last Christmas season when we could find plum baby food in the stores, and this doesn’t seem like a big thing until you put together that it’s the main ingredient in a beloved family recipe for red plum bread. Red plum bread is truly one of those “if you know, you know” treats. I’m actually salivating a little thinking of it now. It’s sweet but tangy, and probably a relative of a British Christmas Pudding. If you’re reading this, Gerber, I’ll forgive every cross word I’ve said about you for one case of plum baby food.

Someday, we’ll have our last year with our son believing in many of our magical experiences. I’ll miss the foothold this magic has on his day to day behavior, I’ll miss those joyous squeals on Christmas morning, but I most assuredly will NOT miss waking up at 3 am in a sweat realizing that I’d forgotten to move the Elf.

Maybe your “last Christmas” is something joyous, like the last Christmas we were a family of whatever number you were before you added a longed for baby to your family. Maybe it’s the last Christmas that your beloved decorates the outside of your house with the really old wreath whose lights are half gone and don’t match the rest of the house (This may or may not be an actual thing. We may or may not have a new wreath debuting outside our house at sundown tonight). For me, the last Christmas I felt bound to wrap every gift in a box with actual wrapping paper and intricate bows is joyful. I embraced a few gift bags into the mix and I’m pretty sure someday I’ll do something wonderful for all of society with the wrapping time I’ve saved.

The holidays point us to think of the BIG lasts; the last Christmas in a family home, the last Holiday season with a relative living. We’re conditioned to embrace those. But I’d encourage you to think this year on the little things you cherish and lean into those experiences. You never know when your last Happy Meal will happen.

Merry Grimace, y’all.