teamLesan: January 2009

Our Christmas card is full of Christmas-card appropriate descriptions of various trips, activities, and children's adventures. But Christmas cards generally don't tell the full story. Here are some of the more interesting parts of 2008.

1. Peel Me a Grape?
One night in November, Rob and I went with our friends the Austins to a fancy dinner at a chic downtown restaurant (on a large gift certificate, obviously). After we'd placed our orders and before the appetizers arrived, our waiter, with quite a flourish and air of luxury, presented us with small plates and an even smaller morsel of something. "An amuse bouche," he declared. "Tonight the chef offers you a red California grape, sliced in half, topped with creme fraiche." Really? A grape? We gave the waiter the appropriates oohs and ahhs, and then tried to taste the grape with sufficient elitism to indicate that we were not at all bursting with laughter. Our bouches were indeed amused.

2. Gathered Around the Christmas Tree's Glow, or something like it
Rob and I both grew up in artificial tree families, fortunately, so we never had to confront that great difficulty in marriage - whether a true Christmas includes a glorious live fur, cut with our bare hands in the forest and hauled home on top of our car, or whether hauling the tree up from the basement is the beginning of a month of Christmas magic. No live fur for us! Nope - true to Rob's geek, we went straight to the internet to find the Christmas tree that would last a lifetime. A tree with LED fiber optic lights caught our (collective) eye for some reason, and we imagined how beautiful a tall tree full of tiny twinkles would look in our family room. The tree arrived, and we excitedly put it up. Turns out the fiber optic strands were not at all tiny white twinkles, but bright colors that flashed in odd patterns. The base of the tree included an MP3 player, which played a variety of Christmas songs in those synthetic computer-sounding tones. Charming. We shrugged our shoulders and tried to be positive, tried to pretend that we had actually intended our tree to look like this. We hung the ornaments to the tune of the synthetic songs, and stood from the second floor balcony overlooking the family room to watch the colorful patterns flash through the tree in the darkness. In the daytime, those clear fiber optic needles stuck out sharply against the fake pine needles. We looked away. Also, we didn't have a ladder that reached all the way to the top of the tree, so the ornaments stopped about three quarters of the way up the tree.

Well, the years have gone by, and the fiber optic tree still graces our family room each season. This year, Rob said, "We've got to get rid of this tree before it becomes a tacky family tradition, before our kids are old enough to grow attached to it." It was the first time either of us had actually admitted out loud that we didn't like our Christmas tree. Stalwartly trying to pinch pennies in These Economic Times, I vetoed the idea of spending money on a new tree. Secretly, I wanted one more Christmas with the Charlie Brown-esque tree. As long as we keep the MP3 player off, I sort of enjoy the whole spectacle. And with Matt's bedroom close to the balcony, I enjoyed the vista of changing color each night as I blearily stumbled into his room for the dead of night feedings. As we head into the last part of January, the tree is still up, spikey white plastic needles shooting out for all to see, ornaments hung only part way to the top. I bought a tree skirt at an after Christmas sale, and I'm sort of enjoying it all, conscious that it might be our last year with the internet-special tree. Then again, maybe it's too late - maybe the tree is already an indispensable part of Christmas. Rob, can we keep it?

3. The Creepy Elf
Speaking of Christmas sales. Ada had a photo on her blog with an adorable advent doll in the background, and I wanted it. Bad. Turns out it comes from Garnet Hill, is an Advent Elf, and has little pockets to hide treats or tiny ornaments. I love the idea of advent calendars, and I love the idea of adding cute elves to my scant holiday decor. The price of the now necessary in my life Advent Elf was above that allocated for Christmas decor in These Economic Times (said budget being zero dollars). Lo and behold, Ada emailed one day to say that the elf was half price. I bought it immediately. It was too late in the season to actually stuff the elf's pockets but I pulled it out nevertheless and propped it happily against the fireplace. Ellie played with it all day around the Christmas tree, and I knew it would be a wonderful tradition for decades to come.

Then Rob came home. "What is that creepy thing in the family room?" Creepy? "Yeah, it looks weird. How does it work?" I explained the whole thing - how you hang the elf, stuff the pockets with treats, and generally add joy to your December. "But the loop to hang the elf falls just at the elf's neck. So it looks like this creepy thing has been noosed on our fireplace, and we're going to display that as part of Christmas?" He spent the rest of the night chasing Ellie around the family room with the elf, saying, "Scary elf! Going to catch you!" As if Ellie needs more things to be afraid of. Which brings us to . . .

4. There's a Lady in My Fan
We were going through our normal bedtime routine: pajamas, brush teeth, stories and songs in the rocker, tell our favorite parts of the day ("Mom, want talk the day), prayers, and into the crib. We had just put Ellie gently on her pillow when she pointed to her ceiling fan and said, "Mom, there's a lady up there." What? "There's a lady up there. In the fan. That lady don't like me." Seriously? I read somewhere that you're supposed to encourage this imaginative behavior, and not try to talk your children out of the existence of these things. So I inquired after the whereabout of the lady, if I could ask her to go away, or if I could carry her out. "You can't reach her." Oh. So I shooed her away.

That was a month ago. Every naptime and bedtime, we shoo the lady away. At first, the lady left quickly and quietly. Lately, she's been hanging around. I thought I'd talked the lady into living at another kid's house, but Ellie said the other kid would be scared. I thought I'd talked the lady into loving Ellie, but Ellie insists, "The lady don't like me. I don't like that lady." I tried to get Ellie to shoo the lady away herself, but apparently the lady only exits when Rob or I utter the magic "Shoo, lady, shoo! It's Ellie's bedtime!" With a few waves of our hands at the ceiling fan, she seems to eventually get out.

Last night she went to bed at Gibson's, since Rob and I were getting home late from the temple. "Do you have a lady in your fan?" she asked Monica. No, Ellie, we don't even have a ceiling fan up there. "No, I think there's a lady up there. Shoo her away."

A few days ago I overheard her shooing the lady away and looked over to find that she had lined her dolls up on the sofa, covered them in blankets of wet wipes, and was now preparing them for mid-day naps.

5. But I Won't Live Here a Lifetime
Rob and I convinced Culligan to deliver salt to our house and put it in our water softener for the same price as Costco charges you to carry it out of the warehouse and put it in your water softener all by your lonesome. It feels rather luxurious to outsource this tedious chore, especially in These Economic Times. In early November, the Culligan man came up from the basement and said that our salt wasn't moving through the softener, and that it hadn't used any salt since the last time he came. He gave us some tips for how to get it moving. They didn't work. So I called Culligan and had someone come to look at it. The "repairman" arrived with a three ring binder and never even touched the water softener. He took one look at it, declared it broken and unusable, and opened up his binder to show me the various models that I might purchase for $2000.

Are you kidding me? $2000?

I thought perhaps we could do without a water softener. But soon our dishes had a thick white film all over them, and our clothes were coming out of the washing machine rather crunchy. I hopped on the internet to do some research. Turns out that quaint little Loveland, Ohio has water that is three times as hard as anywhere else in Cincinnati, or the country. I figured out what size water softener we would need and started price shopping. Found one for $800 and promptly scheduled delivery. Because what's really on your wish list this holiday season is a brand spankin' new water softener. The Culligan "repair man" called while the nice installers were in my basement. "Have you thought about what water softener you want?" Yup, and it's going in right now to the tune of $800. He got amazingly huffy and defensive with me, as if I'd just insulted his mother. "Well, it's probably going to break down on you in five years, or less. Ours will last a lifetime." I understand, but I've already chosen this one. "Well, I hope you're not sorry!" Click.

I must confess. I never knew how much happiness a water softener could bring. I am giddy each time I empty the dishwasher and find sparkling, squeaky clean dishes. Almost like they are smiling up at me. I love my soft clothes with brigher colors. $800 well (if reluctantly) spent.

There you have it, folks - the odds and ends of a year well-spent.

2009 is here! We're still reveling in the wonder of Christmas and Thanksgiving - here is a recap. Somehow three of the six Hinckley sibs are currently living in states placed not too far apart from each other in that vast expanse known as Middle America: Kansas, Ohio, North Carolina. So a Cincinnati Thanksgiving it was, and we even convinced Uncle Spence to fly in from Salt Lake for the event. We had seven adults and seven children - pure chaos and pure magic. Cincinnati had gorgeous weather, and we ate a meal that would make Michael Pollan proud - local organic farm fresh herbs, vegetables, and eggs. Amish pasture-farm raised turkey. Milk from a pasture based dairy farm less than three hours away. Local honey. Homemade rolls. The Rowans worked their gourmet magic. Jenni whipped up scrumptious Koelliker rolls and mashed potatoes (and even taught the nieces to make the rolls). Pure gustatory pleasure all around. Spence let the kiddos crawl all over him all the time. Ann and I went running on the Loveland Bike Trail. Jamin played football and swingset games with the kids in our backyard. We cried as the cars drove out of the driveway towards their home states, and when we dropped Spence off at the airport. Ellie keeps saying, "Mom, where are the kiddos? I want to play with kiddos." I think the picture on the sofa says it all:

Fortunately, Grammie and Pops arrived a week later with pictures of each kiddo, so Ellie can flip through a picture book and talk to her cousins. Grammie and Pops were here for Matt's blessing, a quick but very wonderful visit.

Little guy is the most adorable baby boy on the planet. Period.

Christmas came and went too quickly. I always want to savor every single bit of Christmas, and there is never enough time - never enough time to hear all the great Christmas songs on repeat, never enough calm candlelit nights, never enough quiet moments worshiping the Christmas tree and remembering the story behind each ornament. Christmas Eve and Christmas morning go way too fast. All too soon, the presents under the tree are opened and time marches on. At our house, the Christmas decorations are still up and I'm still listening to Christmas music. I think I at least get until the end of the year before I have to give up December magic entirely. We had a wonderful Christmas day with all the Lesans, and Ellie was very excited that Santa came to both our house and Grandma and Grandpa's house. Ellie got to visit Santa three times - once at the ward Christmas party, once at Macys, and once at the Zoo.
The one at the ward Christmas party was the one that stuck in her mind, apparently, because last week on the way to Church she said, "Matt, we go to Church. Jesus be there, and Joseph Smith, and Santa."

Sigh. Now it is New Year's Day, and I suppose it's time to take the Christmas tree down for another year. Good thing 2009 promises to be so wonderful!