Merry Christmas

Dear Family and Friends,

The only idea I could come up with for this year’s Christmas letter was to share with you some of my Christmas memories. Thankfully, almost all of my Christmas memories are wonderful: listening to Manheim Steamroller, Christmas morning rehearsals, picking out and decorating the tree, granny’s and grandma’s packages, get-togethers with the Squires family; the count-downs to 5:30 a.m. …etc. Man, those were good times.
And I’m pretty sure that before this year, I only had one bad Christmas memory: the year my brothers and sisters and I got a little carried away with the early-Christmas-morning peaking, and we actually went through our entire stockings before the legal time. It may have been fine, except that we were totally unsuccessful in re-enacting our excitement and surprise when we opened our Phantom of the Opera tickets for the second time. Mom quickly recognized what had happened and was genuinely disappointed. She sadly reminded us that her fun at Christmas came from seeing our reactions and watching us be excited. Ouch.
I know a lot better now what she meant. Seriously–who knew that being a parent at Christmastime could be so exciting? These last few years have been filled with all of the memories I’m sure many of you share. Camp, Jane, and now Danin are chomping at the bit just as much as I am to get out all of the Christmas stuff. We have special Christmas story books that we only get out during this time of year; we have a Christmas elf who drops in every December to make sure we’re being nice; we always decorate a gingerbread house; we drive around town throughout the month trying to find the best Christmas light display; we decorate; we make snowflakes; we frost and deliver cookies; we listen to Christmas music; we watch Home Alone; and of course, we rearrange the presents.
But this year? Man, this year’s memories will forever be overshadowed by the catastrophe of last night. Last night was our ward’s Christmas dinner and talent show, and Brian had signed us up to do a talent. For a good two weeks we had haggled about what in the heck we could present for a talent. Then, last Wednesday, during our home teacher visit, I mentioned the fact that I’ve never felt comfortable reciting the Relief Society theme in Relief Society. I described how reciting it just makes me feel like a robot. (Please don’t hate me.) So anyway, our home teacher suggested in jest that we dress up like robots for the ward talent show and recite the Relief Society Theme. Yeah, O.K…. Brian, though, loved the idea, and over the next day–as we became more panicked over not having a talent to present–somehow managed to convince me that people would think the idea was hysterical.
So last night, we all marched stiffly to the stage wearing spray painted boxes and gray sweats. Brian and I managed to recite the theme in our best robot voices with Camp and Jane chiming in here and there and Danin just standing there holding my leg. And when we were done–this is the bad memory part–the only one clapping was our home teacher–who was then hushed by our Relief Society President! Oh, my heavens… I-could-have-DIED! The talent show continued under a thick awkward gloom, and Brian and I and the kids ducked out early. What were we thinking?!
Anyway…today at church, the executive secretary approached us and asked us if we could meet with the bishop on Tuesday night. Yikes. I’m still hoping it’s just a coincidence, but just in case–does anyone still have room for us for Christmas?

Wish us better luck in making memories next year–

Love,

Ann

P.S. O.K. You’re right. That whole talent show thing never happened. Thank goodness, right?
The truth is, my sister challenged me to write a Christmas letter that would make my parents laugh. I didn’t have a true funny story, so I was forced to make one up. And guess what?
Mission accomplished.

P.P.S The people in my ward are way cooler than that.