Days Eight through Twelve...

On the Eighth Day of Christmas (Friday, the 20th) I learned that a young family with a handful of little kids probably wouldn't have much of a Christmas. That really bothered me, and I thought I would have to try to do something—at least come up with one little gift for each child.

Then I got an idea; a wonderfully...wonderful idea! I asked Lindsey if she thought that the Young Single Adult Ward that she attends would be willing to help out. And she immediately put a post on their facebook page. And she immediately got responses:

"What do they need?"
"What do they want?"
"Can I help?"
"I'd like to do something."
"Are gift cards OK?"
"This is what Christmas is all about!"

This was looking to be fantastic!

On the Ninth Day of Christmas we still hadn't even started on one of our favorite holiday traditions: The Gingerbread House. So I spent that morning baking the house; we'd build and decorate it together on Sunday.

baked and ready for the next step

On the Tenth Day of Christmas, after church and after lunch, our family built the house—even Bruce helped with it! I had already contacted a friend and asked if her kids would like to have a "pretty fabulous gingerbread house." (I don't think she was expecting it to actually be as "fabulous" as it was. 😉)

The girls put in the colored "glass."

The windows are glazed, the frosting is made, and Kaylie is
putting the decorations candies into dishes. The sugar-wafer
cookies are for shutters—an innovation this year
—and we used them to make the front door, too.

And construction is under way!
And this time around we didn't drop or knock over any pieces. Yay!

The kids bricked up the front of the chimney with PEZ; the bricks on the side were more of a precision job. If you look closely you can see that Jessica is using curved tweezers to place a brick here.

Bruce and Kaylie put on the finishing touches.
The roof design was new this year, too. We pressed the criss-cross pattern onto the roof pieces before we baked it. Kaylie added most of the frosting and candy.

We finished the house just in time for dinner. Of course, we had to take pictures before we ate.

front

left side

back
(One of the kids (the little kids we gave this to, not my kids)
was really excited about the candy canes on the back.)

right side
(The Christmas tree is made of sugar-wafers smothered in frosting and green sprinkle-sugar.  Yuck. I mean, cute, but yucky.)

We delivered the house right after dinner; I don't think we even cleaned up first. When we arrived, our chosen recipients had guests over—including two more children.  😊  The grown-ups couldn't stop talking about how amazing the house was, and asking questions about the making of it. But the little kids were the real delight—they were so excited! As soon as they saw their house they flocked to it, and hardly left it the entire time we were visiting. Their oldest boy, who knows me, hugged me and said, "I didn't know you did this!"

Such fun!

Also, by that Sunday, the Tenth Day of Christmas, we had already received some snuggly blankets for each child of the little family we were helping, and a few hundred dollars in gift cards and cash. This was looking to be more than fantastic!

On Monday, the Eleventh Day of Christmas, Lindsey and I were out shopping again—this time for another family than our own. Gifts were still arriving at the house, and we were packaging, wrapping, labeling and boxing them up. That, along with our own family holiday preparations, kept me up until midnight. But, although I was tired, it was just fun to be part of the excitement and generosity of everyone who had helped out.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas I was still running around helping my kids with their projects. We were cleaning house, making the ciabatta rolls for dinner, and making treats for Christmas Eve. I put a message out to my ward to see if anyone would be willing to deliver a ready-to-cook Christmas dinner and the wrapped and boxed-up gifts to our little family; I had a response within minutes. And then another, and another. Since the second and third-in-line helpers missed out on delivering what we already had, they offered to get more gifts, or give cash to this family. Almost as soon as the first big delivery was out the door, another big box full of gifts and treats arrived! Fortunately I was able to send that out with my second-in-line elf (who also kindly offered to wrap all of these new gifts).

I soon received a text from Elf Number One saying, "Thank you so much for letting us help with this. The kids [of the little family] were so excited!" And later Elf Number Two sent a text saying that the box of gifts had been wrapped and delivered. Yay!

Although it would have been delightful to see the reactions of our family when the gifts were dropped off, or to have pictures of Christmas morning, that obviously would have defeated the purpose. I trust that they did, indeed, have a Merry Christmas.

It was so exciting to see all the eager love and support that the young adults (ages 18 through 30) and my own friends were sending to a family of strangers. Everyone who participated in the gift-giving and in the delivering of the gifts thanked me for letting them be a part of this. It was truly wonderful, and it filled my house—or at least me, my own heart—with a glorious happiness.

Whoever said it was right: This is what Christmas is all about!

Our Twelve Days of Christmas

There's a thing that people do sometimes around Christmas: for the final twelve days before Christmas, up through Christmas Eve, they will prepare gifts for another family or friend—one for each of the Twelve Days, and deliver them secretly each day.

So many things happened for Christmas this year that it's hard to know how to tell it, and it will definitely take more than one post. This, today's post starts with our twelve days.

But first, a word from our sponsor: I really, really love Christmas!
I listen to Christmas music year-round. I love to see the Christmas decorations being put out in the stores in October—the pretty things just make me happy. I publish my ridiculous Christmas wish-list on November 1st. And I probably start anticipating my favorite holiday about the time school gets out for the year. I love Christmas!

That said, this Christmas season started out feeling a little bit stressful. To begin, with Thanksgiving being so late in the month of November, it seemed like Christmas was coming up fast! And I didn't how I would get gifts for my family; I was wracking my brain trying to think of things I could make for them that wouldn't cost a lot of time or cash, and attempting to think of things we could do together to make up for an empty Christmas tree. I needn't have worried.

On the First Day of Christmas Bruce spent the day and the night helping a friend of ours get to Wyoming for work. Al had hit a deer, and needed someone to take him on the six-hour trip. His wife, Jodie, was planning to do it, but we didn't want her to leave her family here (with her sister, but still...) and we especially didn't want her to make the drive with her two-month-old baby. So we were happy to send Bruce.

On the Second Day of Christmas my kids started talking to me about their homemade projects for their sibling gift exchange. Even though they drew names in August, and some of them had even decided what to make way back then, most of the Christmas projects started to happen in the last two weeks before Christmas.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas (the 16th) I found myself with a little cash in hand...enough to get at least one or two things for each of my kids. And so Lindsey and I were scrambling around to get some Christmas shopping done. (Thank goodness for Amazon Prime!)

By the Ninth Day of Christmas I got all my shopping—including groceries for Christmas Day—and a lot of my gift-wrapping almost finished. I very nearly did it! But on the Eleventh Day of Christmas (Monday, the 23rd) I realized that the Cool Whip never got picked up, and I wondered if there'd even be any left in the stores—same for marshmallows and milk chocolate chips. And I was still waiting for a couple of packages from Amazon.

That Monday there was a log-jam in the baking aisle of Smiths; I'm pretty sure the whole town was getting mini marshmallows and milk chocolate chips, too. There was one lady, surrounded by shopping carts, on her hands and knees, peering into the very back depths of the bottom shelf where she found the marshmallows! And then she handed them out to everyone else who was looking for them with a, "Merry Christmas!"

Then I was looking for the milk chocolate chips, but there were none to be found. I was standing there looking, and listing off, "Semi-sweet, dark, 70% cacao, semi-sweet, mini-semi-sweet..."  No milk chocolate. Then a lady a few carts behind me said, "I found some milk chocolate chips!" and handed them to her husband, who gave them to me, saying, "Merry Christmas!"

Another man helped me out by getting me some things that I couldn't reach from the back of the top shelf. "Merry Christmas!" he said.

Everyone was so cheerful and friendly, despite the last-minute shopping, and a store parking lot—and a store—with absolutely no empty spaces. Good will was abounding; people did, indeed, "seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely" —so much so that I wondered, Why can't it always be like this? All of that  jolly, cordial helpfulness were things I really noticed this year that made Christmas marvelous. Like the reformed Scrooge, I'm sure it would be good for us to "honour Christmas in [our] heart[s], and try to keep it all the year."

Anyway, intermingled with the shopping and good cheer were the kids' Christmas projects. On the Eighth through Twelfth Days of Christmas I was literally being pulled in about five different directions whenever I was at home: cleaning house; preparing food; wrapping gifts; running from one room to another to help the kid who was calling for me. (Fortunately, there were only two sewing projects this year; that made things a lot easier.) Despite all the running, and my sore, sore feet, everyone was happy and getting things done in decent time.

Then there was Bruce.

On the Third Day of Christmas Bruce got this mysterious phone call (two Sundays before Christmas.) And then he just started acting kind of goofy. I would catch him grinning over nothing, or chortling to himself. He had something up his sleeve. He quickly confessed to me that he had a special Christmas gift for me; in fact, it was BIG, it would be delivered to our house, and I would get it early because there would be no way of wrapping or hiding it.

Well, it didn't turn out quite that way. On the Seventh Day of Christmas (Thursday, the 19th) Bruce ended up having to make a one hour drive  in our van—minus all the seats—to go pick up this mysterious present. He took Michael and Ryan with him, and they told me how heavy and awkward it was to load into the van, and that it took five guys to do it.

Bruce drove around with my big gift in the van clear up until Christmas Day. And, to my credit, I will tell you that I did not peek even once! (Who had time for that?) Every time I caught him grinning, or looking like he was thinking about his favorite things, I'd ask, "What?" and he'd tell me how excited he was about my present, with a "tee-hee!"

So I started making guesses: A hot-tub?

Nope, but that would be great!

New double-ovens to replace my dinosaur ovens?

No.

Is it something I've ever mentioned wanting in the house before?

Nope!

Hmmm. A pool table? An air-hockey table? An organ? New kitchen cabinets? (Well, I have mentioned kitchen cabinets before...)

The answer was always a variation of, "No, but that's a great idea," or, "That would be cool."

So my funny, giddy husband made our Twelve Days a lot of fun.

And a lot more than that happened in those Twelve Days, but it's time to stop for now. You can continue to anticipate our Christmas over the first few days of the new year...

The Meaning of Life

This morning, at the breakfast table, we were talking about chili (chile?) peppers—which seems to be a hot topic for us at mealtimes.

Bruce said that chili peppers go against the rules of evolution. And Ryan was saying that mammals can't eat chili peppers—only humans. So I quickly formed a conclusion and rudely interrupted both of them:

"If chili peppers evolved so they would not be eaten, and therefore survive; and mammals evolved into humans who do eat hot peppers... Then chilies and humans must be in a fight to see which is the superior race!"

Bruce asks, "Which one is winning?"

And Ryan says, "Chili peppers."

As the conversation continues, Ryan says that humans are actually breeding peppers to have more capsaicin (the stuff that makes peppers hot) in them. In fact, the hottest pepper currently known, the Carolina Reaper was bred by humans.

To give you an idea how hot this pepper is, a Jalapeno pepper measures 2500 to 800 Scoville Heat Units (SCH), pepper spray measures 2,000,000 to 5,300,000 SCH, and the Carolina Reaper measures 2,200,000 SCH.

And someone created it to be this inedibly hot.

Yes, the peppers are winning the race for supremacy, and we humans are helping them!

Zipline

It's been a while since I've written anything. I mean, anything. So today I'm posting something Rachel wrote for her college class. (She's enrolled in English 1010 at USU for both college and high school credit.) Rachel is an awesome writer! Also, she's braver than I am. 

Zipline

The zipline. My third year, and this is definitely the scariest thing I’ve decided to do at girls’ camp.

We’ve just finished a challenge that I already can’t remember the name of— something about sharks?— and now we’re preparing for the zipline. Unlike the other challenges in this challenge course, the zipline is optional; still, everyone except my sister, Jessica, is going to do it. I’m probably foolish for deciding to when I’m not sure I really want to, but I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t, so here I am. Just this once, and then I’ll never have to go on a zipline ever again.

I leave Jessica sitting on the bench under the canvas pavilion at the edge of the zipline clearing and go to put on a harness and helmet. My nerves build up like static electricity as I watch the others go, one at a time, up the rope ladder, across the bridge of planks strung together with rope, and down the zipline. At the end, a pair of missionaries bring a ladder to help them down. The most comforting part of this process appears to be the purple line attached to the harness that another pair of missionaries holds on to in case anyone falls—and one girl does, so at least I know now that the purple line really works.

I carefully watch the process repeat, making sure that I’ll know exactly what to do when it’s my turn, and try not to think too much about how the ladder is taller than our cabin by more than my height, and the empty space between each plank on the bridge looks like it must be at least a foot wide.

Then, before I know it— and definitely before I’m mentally prepared for what I’m about to do— it’s my turn. I take a deep breath to little effect, then step toward the rope ladder. It turns out to be easier to climb than a lot of the other girls had made it look, although my feet keep getting caught in the holes as I try to move up.

The wind picks up suddenly when I’m only about halfway up the ladder by my reckoning. I cling to the rough ladder and feel the reassuring tug of the purple safety line attached to my harness; the wind doesn’t stop, so I continue upward, more nervously, not really hearing the encouragement others are calling to me. Almost there, I reassure myself, tentatively continuing in spite of the swaying ladder.

I refocus and swiftly ascend the remaining feet of the ladder, concentrating too hard on climbing to look down and get scared. The triumph I feel at reaching the top is quickly squashed as I realize that getting from the ladder to the first plank of the bridge is going to be a lot harder than it looked when the others were doing it.

Before I can think about it too long, I grip the safety line and scramble up onto the plank, half-crouching for a second before cautiously straightening up. The bridge stretches in front of me, and I’m pretty sure the empty space between each narrow plank has at least doubled. Despite the encouragement of the woman across the bridge, there to attach me to the line once I make it across, my legs are shaking so much that the entire bridge is shaking, too. Not helpful.

I’m more scared than I can remember being in a long, long time, and it’s all I can do to stare across the bridge, watching it shake in time with my trembling. Finally, I muster up my courage and force myself onto the next plank, wishing I could feel the safety line better to be sure I’m not going to fall. I step forward again, twice, three times, faster and faster until I’m across the stupid bridge. I don’t hear the cheering of the others and I barely register anything the woman on the nest says to me. I just breathe fast, in and out, trying to slow my racing heart.

The woman unhooks me from the purple safety line— a fact I try not to dwell on, because if I think too much about how there’s nothing from stopping me falling off this five-foot by five-foot platform of wood… I’m sure I must be stiff as a board as the woman attaches me to the zipline itself.

I look down the line, then down at the ground. There is no way I can just step off of the nest into empty air. I feel like I’m standing there for ages before the woman offers to let me slide off from her knees, rather than having to step off myself. Gratefully, too terrified to be embarrassed, I accept her offer.

My heart actually skips a beat when I slide off the nest, and for one terrifying moment I wonder if I’m actually attached to the zipline, or if I’m just going to hit the ground thirty feet below. Then my harness catches with a jolt and I’m zipping down toward the trees at the other end of the clearing.

It’s exhilarating, terrifying and exciting, the air whipping past me and the trees rushing up to greet me on my way down. It only lasts a few seconds, but it makes up for every moment of fear that came before it; I wish it could last longer… especially since I worry that I might run into the trees at the end.

I don’t, though: the missionaries catch me before I can even be stopped by the end of the line itself, and they bring the ladder beneath me before unhooking me from the zipline. The moment my feet touch the solid surface of the ladder, my knees set to shaking again, back and forth like woodpeckers, so that I can’t climb down. Without a shred of grace, I awkwardly wobble down the ladder with the help of the missionaries— I overhear one of them commenting something to their companion, but the only word I catch for sure is “adrenaline”.

No kidding.

Kid Stuff

Why is it that young children are drawn to the rude, the macabre, the naughty?

And the funny thing is that kids just seem to know  these things. Like "the floor is lava"...  I never taught my kids that, but they all played it.

Lately I've been remembering little rhymes, teases, and songs from my childhood. Slightly macabre,
a little naughty, and rather rude. And the thing is, they are funny. Maybe because it was all done in innocence (mostly). So instead of thinking of them and moving on, I am going to post them here for your enlightenment—or for you to recall, as the case may be.

Stop reading now if you can't take rudeness, the macabre, or naughtiness. And maybe chase your children away from the monitor, because these things—especially the songs, if you play them—will stick with them for life.

We'll start gently, with a teasing question, meant to torment your friends endlessly:

Pete and Re-Pete were sitting on the fence;

Pete fell off, and who was left?

When the person you're talking to answers the question, you do what they tell you: Repeat. You could tell this one to your friends all day long—well, your most gullible friends.

Here's a classic that my older sister Melanie and my brother Paul used on me:

Look up.

Look down.

Look all around.

Look at my thumb.

Gee, you're dumb!

It made me so angry that they got me with this, but I could never get them back! (If I remember right, when I said, "Look at my thumb," then they would say, "Gee, you're dumb!" Aaargh!)


But it's the songs that really stick. I learned this ghoulish rhyme/song from my cousin, Wendy (who may have learned it from a friend or an older sibling, who learned it from...who knows where?):

(spoken): Never laugh when a hearse goes by,
for you may be the next to die.
They wrap you up in a bloody sheet
and throw you in a hole that's six feet deep.
It's OK for the first few weeks,
but then your coffin starts to leak. And then...
(sung): The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
a spider plays pinochle on your snout.
A big black bug with purple eyes
crawls in your liver and out your eyes.
The pus comes out like whipping cream... (dramatic pause)
(spoken): And YOU left without a spoon!

How's that for macabre? Or maybe just gross—and it seems a lot nastier as I type it up for you. You're welcome.

I hadn't heard of a hearse when I learned this ditty. I thought it said, "Hurst." There was a family of Hursts (Hearsts?) who lived down the street from us, but why would I laugh when they went by? Was it some other Hursts? And were they ghouls or murderers or something? And when I learned what a hearse was, I really didn't get it. Why would you laugh at that?
No. It was the song that was so charmingly, gruesomely attractive. (Although the use of "eyes" as a rhyme for "eyes" never seemed right, even back then. Thighs, maybe?)


There's this one—which I also learned from Wendy:

There goes (insert name) floating down the Delaware,
chewing on (his/her) underwear,
can't afford another pair.
Three weeks later, bitten by a polar bear;
The polar bear died just then.

So rude!
Never mind the dual tragedies of someone floating down a cold river for three weeks with their last pair of underwear, and then a polar bear dying from the taste of that person. This song is clearly intended to insult the person of your choice.


And then there's this gem that I learned from Melanie; I don't know where she learned it (I want to say girl's camp, but that's not likely.):

Tarzan, Tarzan, in the air,
Tarzan lost his underwear.
Tarzan, Tarzan, he don't care;
Jane will make another pair.
This repeats for two more verses, substituting "Cheetah"
and then "Boy" for "Tarzan."
(Verse 4):  Jane, Jane, in the air,
Jane has lost her underwear.
Jane, Jane, she don't care;
Tarzan like her better bare!

Oh, how naughty!
A lot of the naughtiness was lost on my little innocent self, though. I only thought it was naughty because they were swinging in the trees with no underwear—because they had carelessly lost it. I could imagine poor Jane, sitting naked in her hut, sewing underwear while everyone else was out having a grand old time. Tarzan, Cheetah, and Boy were not very nice to Jane!

So, there you have it: The Rude, the Macabre, and the Naughty.

And the question is, why are kids so attracted to these kinds of things?

I mean, I actually still find them funny—probably more funny now, remembering how I really didn't understand them. But I never sang these songs for my kids until they were too old to use them as weapons on other, unsuspecting children. So, before I published them on my blog for all my friends to see, how is it that they've been perpetuated?