It's Beginning to Look . . .

I am so sorry I didn't get a picture of our living room BEFORE we decorated for Christmas, but I'm fairly certain with a good imagination, you can picture it.

There are three girls living here. We have each collected Christmas stuff our entire adult life. Jennie has been married, so she has stuff from that. Jessica used to be an interior decorator, so she has a lot of stuff too. And then there's me, the collector. I have tried to buy a Nativity set every Christmas for the past ten years or so. So when we get out Christmas decorations, we have to be very selective. We have on apartment that will only fit one person's Christmas junk . . . barely.

Amazingly, not one of us owns a tree.

For a week we had Jessica's Christmas bins, and my Christmas bins in the living room. There were four Rubbermaid storage bins in our living room. All of them were opened in various stages of unpacking and packing.

Sunday, we got it all together and Monday, Jessica deep cleaned everything. And here are the results.

I only unpacked 8 of my 12 Nativities. And we borrowed my cousin's tree. But with the snow today everything looks so nice and Christmas-y.

So Merry Christmas in 11 more days.

Tight Spaces

We had a field trip to the Church History Museum today to learn about pioneers. They actually do a really good job of teaching Utah history. They walk the kids through the different parts of a pioneer's journey. They get to pull a real handcart, label parts on a real wagon, talk to a real blacksmith, and then they get to see a life sized reproduction of what the inside of the ships that many European pioneers took to cross the Atlantic, before they began the journey across the continent.

The inside is small, and the bunks that one family could sleep on measured 6 feet by 6 feet. So my small group was invited to climb in and see what it felt like to be all crowded in there. There were 6 kids in my group and they were wiggling around trying to find room when the guide (an older sister missionary) asked them what they thought the pioneers thought about this arrangement (she was looking for something like, they disliked the lack of privacy or they were homesick). But I think NAthan hit the nail on the head. As he was climbing out, he said very clearly and LOUDLY,

"I think they probably hated it when someone farted."

Sometimes the kids get it right whether we like it or not.

Beware the Pinky Swear

I am the Book Aunt. I get all my nieces and nephews a book for Christmas. And I really try and research the books because I want the kids to love reading. When the girls started high school, I told them that if they wanted something cooler, to let me know (because to me, there is nothing cooler than a book, hence, my wardrobe and weekends). And every year, I am told that they all do two things Christmas Eve: wear their Christmas Pajamas from Nana and read Aunt Nina's book. So, I am also the Cool Aunt. I buy their love.

However, when I started this little tradition 19 Christmases ago, I forgot some things that might be considered important. I probably should have been keeping some lists. You know, a list of book ideas I had over the year, a list of books I already got for each kiddo, and a list of what books were asked for. I also buy a Christmas picture book for each family every year. Now, every year I wonder did I already give them this book?

Those of you who know me are laughing really hard right now. Because I have NEVER been that organized. But I think about being that organized all the time. I really want to be that organized. Mostly it just makes me a little depressed. Chocolate and Diet Pepsi usually help.

Stop laughing.

This year, I got all 12 books before Thanksgiving. I got the family books on sale after Christmas last year. (that's the first time I have ever shopped for Christmas, after Christmas, but it was a really good deal).

Then my sister Erin called me this week and said that I might need to reconsider what I got Holly, her daughter.

Apparently, when I was babysitting about a month ago, I promised to get her a book called "Pigeon Wants a Puppy." I guess we pinky swore and everything. Erin was concerned because Holly was blissfully sure that her Aunt Nina was going to come through for her.

I remember taking her and Sam to the bookstore to look at books, but I honestly have no recollection of this encounter or the book. But Holly doesn't lie, and I googled the book title. It exists.

Dang. Not only are my organizational skills crap, so is my memory.
And my Christmas isn't as done as I thought.

So tomorrow, I'm off to buy "Pigeon Wants a Puppy" by Mo Willems.

Because you never, ever, break a pinky sworn promise.

For Unto Us

For Christmas, I bought tickets for my mom, my sister and me to go to the Messiah sing-in at Abravanel Hall down town. I went last year and it really brought the Christmas spirit in. So I did it for Mom and Erin this year to see if they would enjoy it. And at first it was a frustrating affair.

This is what I forgot.
A-There's no parking down town and B- my mom and my sister are pretty much immobile. Mom because of bad knees and stuff and Erin because eight months of pregnancy will do that to you. My original plan, without thinking, because it's what we did last year, was to park at the Salt Lake Stake building and walk. That would have taken hours. and what would I do if one of them stumbled? Since mom uses Erin and I for support, who do I save? The old lady (sorry mom) or the pregnant lady?

At the last minute I got my Uncle Jim to drive us there and pick us up. Thanks Uncle Jim! You are Awesome!

But to back up about eight weeks ago, when I first told mom about these tickets she said that she didn't like the Messiah. Who says that about a gift?
Well, my mom.
I believe that we all have a filter between our brains and our mouths, so we don't say every thought that comes to mind. I think mom skipped that line in heaven. I told her she was going and she would like it, because I already bought the tickets. Mom and I have a special relationship.
Maybe I'm missing my filter too?

When we got there, she told the people who were helping how silly it was to have a steep hallway, or a step down, or how uncomfortable the seats were, etc. And the ushers were so sweet to her, because she does walk very slowly so she won't fall. They were patient and warned her about slight rises or little steps down. But I was getting pretty frustrated with her. I think I need a dose of Erin's patience. Or Job's.

During the sing-in, whenever the audience sings, they stand up. Mom couldn't see the music very well to read the words and notes, because her diabetes has made her eyesight pretty bad. And she couldn't stand up that long so she sat and enjoyed the music. And then we sang "For Unto Us A Child Is Born."

Mom's favorite scripture ever since I can remember has been that one. I remember her quoting it to me as a little girl and telling me all those names for the Saviour: Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. When the introduction started She stood up and braced herself on her daughters and sang her heart out. There were tears in her eyes, and she knew every word. And that's when I knew Christmas was here.

Forget the shopping and the cranky people and the traffic. I thought that those were the signs that Christmas was here. They are just unfortunate byproducts. But my mom feeling the spirit and rising to her feet to bear her testimony of the Saviour with that song . . . that was pretty extraordinary. Christmas is here.

Because unto us a child was born.

Happy thanksgiving!

'Tis the Season for many things . . . shopping, ignoring the very early Christmas decorations, cooking, eating. In my case, I have about three months worth of art that is pretty much expected of me. Think about it. If your children didn't come home with that really cute Halloween cat, or the paperbag Thanksgiving turkey, or the Christmas ornament made from toilet paper, you would be so disappointed. even though I know half of it ends up in the garbage.

Unless you are like my mom, who saved EVERYTHING.

When we cleaned the basement out after dad died, my sister and I had a system. We would let mom go through a box and oh and ah over the memories . . . "I remember when you made this in Mrs. Brown's class. Look how cute it is." etc.

Then, when mom dug deeper and found something else to get sentimental over, I would slip the 20 year old piece of glue and construction paper to Erin who would put it in a hidden garbage bag. I know. We're bad daughters. But that basement got clean. It took three months, but it got clean. And mom never knew until we told her a couple of years ago.

Ah the memories.

And now it's my turn to pass on that grand tradition of construction paper crap. I mean art.

So I got on line and found this great idea that my turkeys this year would be nontraditional. They would be "Turkeys in Disguise." After all, the farmer is after them, so why wouldn't they hide? (I obviously have too much time to sit and think, and a very active imagination) So, only a couple of feathers are showing (we taped feathers on the back as if the escaped from the disguise). And the kids could come up with whatever disguise they wanted.

So I give you, our turkeys in disguise.

I even laminated them so that in 20 years, when the parents are going through boxes of crap, I mean art, these will not have fallen apart.

Sorry

So, sorry for my rant last time. You have to understand. I am a teacher and I have to be able to control everything, and everyone around me. Thank heavens classrooms are not democracies.

This week is the BYU U of U football game, and I am so anxious I could scream. You have to understand, I could care less about football. But my family is BYU fans from birth. I think something bad happened to my brother once, like a curse, when he rooted for the U. So I cheer for the Y even though I have never watched a game this season. Football is just a bunch of men running and falling, running and falling, and eventually they will blow a knee and take up coaching. This is what they aspire to. But hey, I teach 10 year olds and find completion in that chaos, so to each his own.

What gets me about this rivalry are the fans. Has anyone besides my sister and me noticed the difference between BYU fans and U of U fans? Of course I'm talking in generalities here, but my experience has been that Y fans can call the game a game and the rivalry fun, and leave it at that. The U fans get a little nasty. Again, this is in generatlities. There are the Y fans who are adamant that the Cougars are the Lord's team, and there are U fans who cheer for the Y when they play anyone else.

But here's what I'm dealing with at work.
There is a teacher has been wearing red and white all week. And letting us know why. Everyday.
When the U won one of their Thursday games, our principal played the U of U fight song over the intercom.
During Red Ribbon Week, when everyone was supposed to wear red, I heard everyday about how I was wearing red hahahahahahahaha.
Someone on Facebook sent me some nasty phrases and swear words regrding the BYU Cougars.

So, Saturday, after we lose, I will wear blue for the next week at school. I will burst into the BYU fight song at strange moments. I will pretend to forget the kids names and instead use the names of famous BYU quarterbacks and coaches. ("Hey LaVelle, I mean Katie"). And on Facebook, I will write on this person's wall continually with the chorus to the fight song ("Rise & Shout, the Cougars are out . . ."). Sadly, that's as nasty as I get.

Don't mail me any white powder.
Go Cougars!

I don't even know what to title this post. I just know I have to say something. It's been rolling around in my head for a few hours now, and it needs saying before I go nuts.
Recently I was looking at the news while checking my email, and I read the updated story about the white powder sent to the Salt Lake Temple and the L.A. Temple. And then I read the comments people posted. Why I do that I will never know, because it always makes me mad. As we all know, only fanatics comment on news stories. You know the ones. There is no middle road for them.
But I kept coming across people saying the same thing . . . that we (insert adjective) Mormons were getting what we deserved. We are bigots, and we hate everyone. So many things go through my mind:
Have they ever met a Mormon?
What were they thinking?
Where are their parents?
Don't they know it is usually little old ladies and little old men working at the temple?

I wanted to shake them till their teeth rattled (not the temple workers, the guy who mailed the powder).

And then I remember what we have been taught (and there were quite a few nasty posts about Mormons following blindly). We love those that hate us. Period.
That is my hardest test. I want to run out there and show everyone exactly how wrong they are and how right I am. (Ask my sister . . . I am always right!)

So today, my mantra is, Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Neighbor.
I will not suggest to anyone that if they don't like it they can leave, because today I am trying to remember . . . Love Thy Neighbor, Love thy Neighbor, Love Thy Neighbor.

I will not suggest we get out the handcarts and pack up, because today I am trying to remember . . . Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Neighbor, Love Thy Neighbor.

Of course my sister will find this easier. She had years of putting up with me so it's second nature to her (Love thy sister, Love Thy Sister, Love Thy Sister . . .).

And then my sister will read this and call me and tell me to settle down. But by then it'll be OK because repeating that actually works.