Twas the week before Christmas...

OK. I really was going to be good and go to bed...long winter's nap and kerchiefs and such, BUT at some point in my future life, I will regret it if I don't write some of this down.

So, just now I tried going into my bedroom to get ready for bed. Gordon, who has fallen asleep watching the news, rouses slightly. I notice a semi-folded mound of laundry pushed to my side of the bed, and sigh (with a hint of irritation). Understand that, at best, Gordon's version of "folding" usually involves rolling the article of clothing and then bending the whole thing in half. Amazingly, my husband senses my frustration, even in his slumbering state, and mumbles apologetically, in a very pitiful voice: "I tried to fold some of the clothes...I tried to right the outside ins...but they wouldn't fold rightside out." Yes, dear, of course. Go back to those visions of dancing sugarplums.

It has been a long day. It started at 2:47 am, when I sprang from my bed to the clatter of the shower running. Why was Jeffrey in the shower at 2:47 am? Was he sick? Did the alarm get set wrong? I woke up Gordon, and asked him what he thought. His reaction was to pick up the remote, point it backwards towards the TV, and frantically try to turn on the news to see if seminary was cancelled. Clearly I was on my own with this one. I went from room to room to check the times in each, because that seemed very important...and also very intelligent. To me. All clocks confirmed that it was, by now, 2:49 am. So, away down the hall I flew like a flash to knock on the bathroom door. Jeffrey is singing. I pound on the bathroom door and yell, loudly, "JEFFREY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" The water turns off.

The reply came, calmly, at first, "Well, Mom, what do you think I'm doing? I'M TAKING A SHOWER FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD! WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

I explained that it was 2:49 in the morning.

Oh. It wasn't 5:49?

Oh.

Every now and then we are reminded that Jeffrey has dyslexia. Alarm clock 2's and 5's are exact mirror images of each other. We all went back to bed.


So, Heidi gets off the bus this afternoon, and what to her wondering eyes did appear on the way up the driveway? Not miniature sleighs and tiny reindeer. No. A big hawk swooped down RIGHT in front of her, clutching a helpless and somewhat dead baby squirrel, and then landed on a nearby branch to have lunch. From the amount of screaming going on, I was sure that Heidi herself was being eaten. A lot of drama there...prancing, pawing, leaping, exclaiming...mostly about the little bushy tail...WOW. She had trouble nestling into bed tonight.

Holly dreams about a sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too. But mostly she imagines seeing a reindeer, riding a reindeer, or simply being a reindeer. Why not? Holly has some psychic connection with animals in any realm. Earlier, we had a pretty ugly scene going on because Amy allegedly refused to apologize to Butterscotch (the robotic horse Holly got from Santa last year). Apparently, Amy had pointed out to Holly that Butterscotch was NOT real and could therefore not have his feelings hurt if she (Amy) didn't want to ride him. Boy, was that faulty reasoning. If Prancer or Vixen ever need legal counsel, Holly is the one to call. I wished I could just lay my finger aside of my nose and rise up the chimney out of that situation.

Chris, who shall hopefully fly home to us on Saturday like the down of a thistle from BYU, gave a whistle to us that he has finished his finals, is out of money, and spent most of the night (in which he should have been studying) helping his fellow collegues construct the world's longest chain of plastic grocery bags. Fantastically, they united four apartment buildings in Wyview in this web of plastic rope. He was very proud of their accomplishment. As was I. After all, this is why we send our children to college, is it not? On Dasher! On Debtor!...or something like that.

And then, there is Amy. Her eyes how they twinkle! Her dimples how merry! We were shopping in Target and she comes running to me, all excited. "Mommy! Come quick! It is the coolest thing I've ever seen! You gotta see it!" I was very interested to see it indeed, because we are having a terrible time trying to come up with gifts for Amy this year. She pulled me over to an end cap display of tool cases--the kind that come with several wrenches and ratchets, a hammer, and screwdrivers in a black plastic carrying case with yellow plastic interior.

She pointed to it, beaming, "Look at all of those Philip's heads (screwdrivers, in case anyone doesn't have a 7-yr-old female mechanic at their house)! I don't have any of those, Mom! Aren't they awesome?" So, while Santa goes to work filling stockings for most little girls with Hannah Montana barbies and play make-up kits, my daughter will be getting Philip's head screwdrivers. She doesn't need the make-up anyway, though, because she already has cheeks like roses and a nose like a little cherry.

Well, I still don't have Christmas cards written, but Merry Christmas to all , And to all a Good Night!


P.S. No, wait. There's more. I forgot about the creature stirring part. I was making lunches at o'dark early and I see movement at my feet. I screamed, naturally, thinking it was a mouse, but then something told me to look again. There was no tail. Wait. There was something familiar about this little guy. Cookie! Our hamster! Downstairs in the kitchen! Upon further investigation, it was determined that Cookie had stuffed his little apartment loft so full of fluff that it popped the lid, thus enabling the great escape. Never a dull moment here!